Mamma Mia! Due bambini!

"Who's a friend?"

2011-11-08T08:09:00.000-08:00

Here's some Cate love, especially for Grandma and Grandpa and cousins Stephen, Eliana, Abigail, and Miriam.

Buyer's Remorse

2011-10-06T18:28:00.000-07:00

Owning your own home opens up a whole new realm of window shopping envy. Things I never even thought about wanting are suddenly overwhelmingly appealing--to the point where I'll google it to see if the price is more than slightly prohibitive. What kinds of things?

Oh, you know, a high efficiency washer and dryer. A side-by-side fridge with an ice maker and filtered water dispenses (or just one with better space management than the one we currently have). Comfy leather couches that resist crayons and juice. A fence and remote controlled gate across the driveway. A food processor without a crack in it. A new, efficient and not peach toilet that does not "whine" whenever it is flushed. A light kit for the living room fan. Three-pronged outlets and a gfi breaker in the kitchen. I guess I've moved from window shopping to house wishes. Let's just be glad that I haven't put "three-pronged outlets" into Google, at least yet.

Settling into a new house brings along some buyer's remorse. I've been told that this is inevitable. No matter how prepared you are, the unexpected things pop up. Things you overlooked before may come to bother you. The first months are a money drain and you wonder, "did we do the right thing?" The rose-colored glasses come off and you see up close the eyesore that a sagging chain link fence can be, the tar spots the your maple trees have contracted, the pipes that mysteriously leak, and the holes and live wires that previous owners just wallpapered right over.

At the moment, the remorse has waned, probably the result of our living room painting and rearranging. It helps to make the space our own so that it's no longer "that house we bought" but is now our house, where we (and hopefully others) love to be.

All Around the Planets

2011-10-04T17:42:00.000-07:00

Dominic, with his face between angelic and mischievous (stalling before bed), told me, "Mommy, I love you this much"--and he made about ten 10's with his fingers. And then he emphatically restated his great love for me, clearly influenced by their unit study of the solar system at preschool and the longest distance he can think of, "Mommy, I love you all around the planets and back again to Pennsylvania!"

Ah, those are the moments when he melts my heart.

Dominic before his first day of preschool at Countryside Montessori.

Standing in front of the school, right before his first afternoon.

Living Room Makeover

2011-09-29T10:33:00.000-07:00

The home makeover crew arrived on Saturday for a long-anticipated facelift of the living room and back yard. This crew may seem motley with just a doctor and a housewife team but don't be fooled, they are creative, hard-working, and thorough--boy are they thorough! Their drive to bring joy to others and to improve whatever it is they set their hands at are a powerful combination. In short, my in-laws are amazing. So please, enjoy the fruits of our (and most significantly their) labor.

It's a little hard to see the color in this first picture. It's a light teal-grey color. Think of the relaxing color you might find in a spa or waiting room for a massage. That might be right if you have the same imagination as me. If you don't recall, it used to be a boring beige that just muted the fireplace.

We did a little rearranging as well. You can also see our new "game table" in the back. This one show the color pretty well, although it's obviously a little lighter when natural light streams in. Any ideas for curtains?? (something fairly casual that can be drawn completely to block out drafts in winter would be ideal).

We moved the reading nook to be more cozy by the fireplace and also function as an additional chair to the main sitting when we have lots of people over.

By moving the side table from behind the couch (in front of the big wall) we made a little display place with a neat Italian painting. The accessorizing needs some work...

What's your favorite filling?

2011-07-26T12:52:00.000-07:00

Apple? Cherry? Blueberry? Strawberry? Most people love a fresh-baked pie, and I'm really no exception (although I do prefer crumbles to top pie crust). But in this intense heat wave we've been experiencing for over a week, I am entertaining no ideas of pie baking. It would just be wrong, for so many reasons. So I'll have to get my "fill fix" another way. Dirt fill.

Not mud pies, as you might expect in a house with two little kids who are frequent hose-in-dirt offenders. Rather, the dirt fill is coming for our crater! That back hoe is inside our fenced crater. I let out a Catie-esque, "Woo hoo!"

They haven't made any other progress yet, but at least the machine is there, looking impressive and ready for business. So now we're waiting for the dirt fill. Let's hope they don't confuse that with land fill.

Main Tub Scrub (and Caulk)

2011-07-13T11:46:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you'll remember how the main bathtub looked when we bought the house. It needed, umm...some elbow grease. A few days after we settled in I went to tackle it and realized the sad truth. The previous owners left it that way because it couldn't be scrubbed away. It was embedded in the silicone caulk. Yuck. It gave me the heebie-jeebies just showering in there. A call to my ever-handy, highly-experienced father yielded the verdict of death to the silicone. Rip it/scrape it out. Scrub, scrub scrub. Tape for protection. And then, re-caulk with quick-drying, flexible kitchen and bath silicone (in a tube). I was pleased with the results of a few hours of work.

Except that, in the process, I had to reattach/caulk a few bathtub tiles and when I scraped the first tile, the one below it fell right off, taking the supporting plaster right with it. So, in the last picture you can see the gap left behind. Stay tuned to see the results of that project.

Inside, now Outside

2011-07-02T10:29:00.000-07:00

Besides the hose, this is the kids' favorite thing about the new house. It's a bit rickety, but they love it and it has already provided hours of entertainment.

Dominic is learning all sorts of new things! (this is part of our front lawn--which reminds me, anyone know how to get rid of moles? We're getting nasty mounds of dirt and tunnels. Or how to keep deer from eating hostas?

Then, our next big project. Getting the hole/crater/marsh filled. You can see a little more than half of it in the picture below. But we've got some nice old pine trees! :)

2011-07-01T12:30:00.000-07:00

Previous Owners

Now that we finally have internet, I decide to acquiesce to the whimsy of some friends and put up "work in progress" pictures. In truth, I would have preferred to wait until we finished and had finally made the space just what we want, but, as they so rightly pointed out, when will that be?

So here you have it, I even included a few pictures from before when we were house hunting. All the window coverings were left, so we attempted to work with them...not sure how that will pan out in the long run.

This is how the white wicker that we inherited looks in the living room, surprisingly nice, we thought. It was just hard to imagine how slightly ornate, garden-y furniture would look in what the previous owners made a very formal space. But we're not stuffy people at all, so I think it'll work for us. Future plans include painting the walls a very light, springy green and adding patterned, brightly colored curtains to frame the big window. Oh, and of course lots of pillows for the wicker after I recover the cushions.

Then there's our reading nook. Reminds me of my dorm room in Mauck, right ladies? And all those books have to go somewhere! (Actually 25 boxes did go somewhere...Matt's office on campus. Hooray!)

Mantle--beginnings of decor

And we've made a start at decorating the mantle. Very creative, I thought. :) Plans are to recreate my wedding bouquet with red roses and bright lilies and trailing ferns...

We very quickly made the kitchen our own. Maybe just one set of letter magnets would do? But if you look closely, between the oven and fridge is my masterpiece of family organization. Seriously, this is going to be life changing. A place for wallet, keys, charger for cell phones, files for incoming mail, and a notepad for lists, reminders, etc. Next is a family calendar and a magnetic dry erase for menu plan/chores.

And here's our wicker table in the dining room. I rather like it. We are extremely pleased with our new house and neighborhood. I'll put up pics of the other rooms soon. And I think I'll post, as sort of an online chronicle, details on our various home improvement and decorating projects. More to come! :)

Disney World!

2011-05-28T11:41:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not know, we just returned from a week in Disney World. Thanks to the generosity of the Gaetanos and an incredible feat of will power and mental energy by Matt to finish a complete dissertation draft, we were able to celebrate our anniversary, sans kids, in a magical way. It was unbelievable. Quite miraculous to find out that we do still like each other. And we both enjoyed a bit of rest and relaxation before the storm of moving comes. I present the proof:

She said it best

2011-05-17T07:09:00.000-07:00

Matt was waxing philosophical on us again, starting on a parley about the interesting case of x or y. I can't really remember the particulars. My discussion honing device was sensing length, prolonged length, for which my tired self just wasn't quite in the mood for. But, lest I be rude, I just nodded and followed along, wishing I had a witty way out.

Suddenly the princess spoke. And when Cate speaks, with her charming little voice and captivating expressions, everyone stops to listen. She looks Matt straight in the eye, and, sounding just a little exasperated says, "Eat, Daddy!" And just like that we were out, replacing the mini-dissertation with hearty laughter.

Right or Wrong?

2011-05-03T15:14:00.000-07:00

So, when Matt's gone and it's just the kids and me, I turn to breakfast foods for dinner, which according to Matt is not a legitimate dinner option. But, when it's just us, a quick and easy meal that even picky Cate devours is just the thing.

Today while Dominic was eating his Mickey Mouse pancake, he pronounced, with all his four-year-old taste and authority, "These pancakes are delectable and yummy!"

Does this mean we're doing something right? Or something seriously wrong?

A Super-Duper Lady

2011-04-30T15:24:00.000-07:00

I was wearing big Audrey Hepburn sunglasses on top my head--you know, the kind that were in style a year ago--and Dominic announced to me, "Mommy, you look like a super-duper lady." I wasn't surprised that my ever-observant son noticed my sunglasses, but I was more than a little curious at how he knew about Hollywood glamour with its super-duper ladies in their stylish, and often garish, accessories. To my delight, he was warming up to tell me about these super-duper ladies.

"You know, you know...they're..." he said, stammering as he tried to vocalize exactly what he was thinking. "Like the ones...the ones who have fire in their feet. It comes out of their legs! And they're super powerful. And really cool. And they shoot like rockets way up to the sky. That' when they have their glasses on. But then, when they take off their glasses and power down...then they turn into a regular lady, like you."

Didn't you know? Obviously, that's what a super-duper lady is.

Washed by Water

2011-04-22T10:35:00.000-07:00

I had a very special addition to my Holy Week this year. On Monday, in Colorado Springs, I was privileged to be witness to Samuel Philip Good's baptism. This is my college roommate's first child--a beautiful baby boy with a perfectly shaped head and cute blue eyes.

Proud parents Zach and Laurel holding Samuel

at St. Mary's Cathedral in Colorado Springs.

Samuel and godmother

Samuel Philip Good -- 4 weeks old.

The Mattress Adventure

2011-04-14T17:26:00.000-07:00

Matt and I have been living with hand-me-down mattresses since we got married--soon to be five years! In fact, our first bed and mattress were Matt's childhood set. A full size bed with a ten-year-old mattress. It was a bit small, but it worked for two poor, newly-weds. It was sold during our massive possession purge to another poor, newly-wed couple. At least I hope they were wed.

Moving to York, with my in-laws, landed us with their beautiful king size bed--an oriental with two-toned wood. Wow. It was amazing. King size was amazing. "Matt, where are you?" I can't find you! Oh well, I'll just enjoy my own space. The mattress, on the other hand, was not so amazing. Just an old, firm mattress that made my back hurt every morning when I woke up.

Next up was our 450 square foot, furnished Italian flat provided us with two institutional twin beds (read: no box spring, just a firm european mattress made up with two flat sheets and a wool blanket) that could be pushed together to make a "matrimonial". The crack, which opened of its own accord, did not prove to be very comfortable.

After returning to York and making morning back stretches a part of my routine again, we made a firm resolution that our first purchase for the new home would be an awesome mattress set. Even if we had to skimp on the bedroom furniture to make it happen, we would splurge on the mattresses.

I'd been half-heartedly researching mattresses, looking through deals, and trying to make sense of the ridiculous nomenclature that changed for every retail store and brand. I had no idea how to compare them and it was a purchase that we couldn't afford to get wrong. Craigslist to the rescue. An advertisement for Sealy Posturepedic pillowtop mattresses brand new, in plastic. For sale because they had been staged in model homes and were no longer needed. Delivery available. Hmm...on a whim, I picked up on the phone and called. I would have been skeptical about it, but when Jeff answered, he was just so nice and sounded so trustworthy. My bargain instincts told me this was worth the risk. And really, the risk was actually pretty low. The delivery guys would bring two (of my choice) mattresses, picking from plush, ultra plush, pillowtop, and something else, we'd be free to try them out and buy one with cash if we liked it. if we didn't like either we paid them $15 for their time and they were on their way. They would come in two days between 9-11am. And two guys showed up at 9:05am with two mattresses for us to try, on our driveway. Aside from feeling very sheepish at lounging on two mattress in the shared condo driveway, it went well. I clearly like the pillowtop over the regular one. A bit of google research showed that they were top of the line mattresses, so I decided to be impulsive for once and take the risk. So they hauled it upstairs, we forked over $550 in cash, and that easy, we made our first purchase for our new home--an ultra plush euro pillowtop mattress set.

We'll be sleeping on it tonight. I'll let you know if it was a mistake or not...

Home Style (not fries)

2011-04-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

It is astonishingly paralyzing to attempt to create a home style from scratch. Since we have been freed from owning a house or any furnishings for the last 3 years, we are blessed and cursed with the chance to really pick what we want. But where do we begin? I think it would actually be easier if we had to work around a few existing pieces.

After taking a dizzying walk through Ashley Furniture, Wolf Furniture, Budget Furniture, and some other furniture store, I feel even more at an impasse. Formal? Country? Transitional? (what does that even mean?!) Real wood or paint something? So, following the style quiz suggestions from younghouselove.com, a great blog about high style, low cost DIY home projects, I took the Ikea style quiz and the sproost.com quiz. These suggest that I'm "country (50%) and wine country style (50%), another labeled my style as "bohemian casual". Labels aside, both descriptions suggested that I love a cozy, comfortable house and that is exactly right.

We want our new home to be a welcoming respite for us and our friends. A place to hang-out and make memories. A place where our furnishings and spaces serve us, not us them. Easy-care and comfortable, but not slouchy or frumpy. Oh, and lots of pops color. That is what we want. Whatever that is.

Now, how we achieve that is the big question. My vision is neutral (not white!--maybe green or light brown), plump sofas. Colorful, patterned drapes that are not geometric or modern looking but not country florals. And brightly colored, fun accents like pillows, books, pictures, and souvenirs from our travels. A serviceable coffee table in a warm wood. Something that screams, "Put your feet up!" End tables a plenty to hold those steaming cups of tea and freshly brewed mugs of coffee. And lights everywhere. Light pouring in the windows, light from the end tables, and maybe even some recessed lights. Darkness is depressing. I want cozy, but light. Is that too much to ask?

It seems like a tall order as we begin thinking of how to accomplish this. I guess we'll just have to be patient. Little by little and layer by layer, we'll get there. We'll prioritize our needs. 1) a bed for us with an awesome mattress and a dresser 2) a bed for Dominic and dressers for the kids. 3) couches for guests. 4) couches for family room. 5) coffee tables, end tables 6) lamps 7) storage solutions 8) rugs 9) accessories. And paint, that'll go in there somewhere. Probably after step 4, before 5. But it's all a process that will take time.

And did I mention that we're not above taking used furniture off your hands? :)

"I got a REAL light saber!"

2011-03-23T12:49:00.000-07:00

Dominic received many presents for his fourth birthday that he really liked, but this one especially tickled his fancy. His cousins, Stephen and Ellie, both have their own light sabers and it had apparently been a secret wish of his to have one too...

Dissertation Immersion?

2011-03-03T16:10:00.000-08:00

Lately, Matt has been more machine than man. Night after night he's been staying up until the wee hours of the morning, disciphering page after page of Latin and writing it all up in a most erudite way. I believe he hit the 250 page mark yesterday. There's real hope that he'll finish by April 15th!

But this dissertation immersion has its own costs. This morning, on his way to the Lancaster train station, he found himself in need of a little pick-me-up. BK drive-thru to the rescue. Most would opt for coffee, but my untainted husband finds cola the more palatable option for his caffeine fix. He pulls up and orders. One medieval Diet Coke, please. Thanks. And only after pulling forward to pick up his order, did it hit him what he asked for. So he immediately called to amuse me.

Videos: February

2011-02-24T15:11:00.000-08:00

In lieu of something witty, interesting, or insightful to read...rot your brains with some more videos.

I guess math could be a joy...

2011-02-22T10:50:00.000-08:00

Dominic had a break through about numbers. We've been gradually teaching him the concept of "adding", mainly using his fingers for counting. Three on one hand, two on the other, together they equal five, etc.

And today when he realized that 4+4 and 3+5 and 6+2 and 7+1 all equal 8, he announced to me with great excitement and wonder, "Mommy, this is SILLY! They are the same!"

Ship out the Shape-Ups

2011-02-20T13:53:00.000-08:00

Have you seen these Sketchers that have recently become the latest rage?

The Shape Ups.

Really they're tennis shoes fused to those thick-bottomed, weird shoes that people over seventy wear.

Don't they look a bit like those shoes for diabetics, the ones sold at medical supply stores? I've got no beef with elderly wearing these shoes, they've earned their license. Not to mention that the extra grip, support, and overall ease, are probably necessary for their well being. But curved athletic shoes with a thick bottom that are sanctioned to wear with any outfit because of the marvels they do for your body as they simultaneously tone the legs, hips, and butt? Who gave license for young people to wear old-people shoes under the guise of "toning" shoes? Not okay.

Videos: Christmas Cuteness and Veggie Tales

2011-02-10T09:58:00.000-08:00

I know, Christmas was almost 6 weeks ago... But I just went through my pictures and videos and found this precious one of Dominic and Cate dancing. They're the best of friends.

And here's a promised video of the kids trying to sing the Veggie Tales theme song:

Last year

2011-02-09T06:05:00.000-08:00

Last year at this time, we were smack dab in the middle of our Italian sojourn. Month 5/10. Matt's parents had come bringing us needed replenishments of over-the-counter medicines, new toys, and larger clothes for the kids. We were off for a week-long vacation in Florence with side trips to Siena and Pisa. It was a time of exploration and excitement. Sometimes I miss the novelty of our surroundings and the unexpected nature of everyday. I miss the delicious cappuccino and the chink of cups wafting in our window. I miss the mild weather, which allowed us to get to the park and piazza every day. I miss hearing the lilt of Italian everywhere. And, during my recent illness, I missed the tiny apartment with its convenient proximity of the bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, and living room

But that missing is pretty short-lived. The nostalgia for the tiny apartment only extends that far. When I have at least half my normal energy, or when the kids have all of their energy, that apartment sounds as awful as it often was. Dominic put it well as he was singing and spinning yesterday. "I love Mommy...and our house is beautiful..." Oh, I guess the first part wasn't totally relevant, but I thought it was quite charming. So I made myself a cappuccino this morning in my Italian moka on the gas stove, while I enjoyed heating up the normal milk in the microwave. Then I checked my e-mail on the fast and reliable internet. And I put on Sesame Street in English for the kids while I took a warm shower in a shower with a door and water pressure. Shortly, I'll load the kids up in our car and drive to story time. Sure, those memories from last year have turned sweeter with time, but life in America is pretty great.

Photos!

2011-02-01T15:21:00.000-08:00

We attempted to get a family Christmas photo. It ended up like all our attempts...a little too candid.

And then I took 45 pictures trying to get a cute brother-sister picture. This was at least amusing.

And then we tried once with Michael Gaetano, our godson. This child is an angel.

Cate sporting her favorite present, her pink tricycle from MaMa and PaPa.

Dominic sharing his new Toy Story sleeping bag with Cate.

A great picture of the Gaetano siblings: Matt, Stephen, and Marialana.

A Day of Firsts

2011-02-01T13:57:00.000-08:00

January 31, 2011 was host to a myriad of "firsts" for me. None especially desirable, but interesting in that cold, analytical way. First a miscarriage, not unexpected since we had found out two weeks ago at an ultrasound that our baby died, but a rather bleak first in the physical proceedings. It was also my first time of blacking out repeatedly, my first ambulance ride, my first out-cold anesthesia, my first surgery, and my first multi-day recovery in bed.

I think most people have their first ambulance ride as kids or when their elderly, not usually as a healthy twenty-five-year-old fully conscious. The situation was such that my blood pressure was dangerously low and I needed to go to the hospital, but I couldn't sit up without blacking out, so I couldn't ride in a car. Hence the need for an ambulance bed, which, by the way, was surprisingly comfortable. The EMT's were very nice and made some funny cracks as they loaded me up and drove to the hospital. I'm sure it was an easy call for them, not having to actually do much work or carry a heavy person. They covered me in lots of sheets and a very heavy plasticky blanket and then strapped me in for the ride. It felt very strange to be wheeled and carried around. The nice thing is, when you go though ER on a stretcher, you don't have to do much waiting or asking. They just put you where you need to go. So ambulance rides aren't so bad.

Once at the hospital, there was the obligatory gown and plastic id jewelry. The i.v. of lots of fluid. And the questions, oh the questions. I almost wished I'd arrived unconscious and somebody else had to answer all those questions! Once was bad enough, but every new nurse, doctor, or aide asked me the same ones. Yes! I'm allergic to penicillin. No! No medical history. My name? Amy Gaetano! My birthday! MAY 13 1985!!! Don't you people write this stuff down??

But then came the determination from the gruff ob that examined me that I needed the D&C surgery and they could be ready for that in as soon as half an hour. We had already scheduled one for the upcoming Friday (it was Monday), so I felt emotionally prepared for it, in that utterly exhausted, do what you will with me, sort of way. At least we knew for sure the baby had died as the miscarriage was mostly completed on its own earlier that night. We waited. I don't really remember what I did. Maybe I dozed? I think I sent a few text messages. Matt would probably remember.

Then they wheeled me off to yet another room, I guess it was the pre-op room where they asked me the same questions and gave me another iv filled with something clear that was supposed to put me to sleep. I didn't quite believe it. I thought I'd have a warning or be getting sleepy or something. But I felt pretty clear-headed as I took out my contacts and got another delightfully warm blanket from the nurse. They have these microwave things that they take blankets out of for patients, it's like getting a blanket right out of the dryer. Wonderful invention. Bravo.

Then the nurses in blue wheeled me off to the O.R. and some pretty, young nurse asked me to get on another table. I did and I remember the bright lights and the unimpressive room pretty clearly. And then, all of a sudden, I remember nothing. I woke up from a nice sleep in a recovery room that looked very similar to the pre-op room. In fact, I wasn't quite sure I'd ever left. I felt the same. I wasn't in any pain, no parts were missing, and I could move my limbs just fine. Was this before or after? As I came to--and you might not know that without my contacts, I can barely see, although from practice I'm pretty good at distinguishing hazy forms--I determined that it must be over and I was in post-op. No one was asking me questions and I was left to be half-asleep as I wished. It was rather pleasant, actually. My first surgery wasn't so bad.

Then we were on the go again, I'm not sure who gave the signal, but it was time to move me to another place. Wheeling the litter, as they called it, down the maze of hallways and on a few elevators, I arrived in a recovery area where another nurse, who looked like my Aunt Kiki, took charge of me. Matt showed up in a few minutes and we were left for an hour or so to recover and discharge. I was a bit sleepy, but not loopy or funny, to my surprise. After being disentangled from the various cords, I was able to get up a bit and move around, a definite improvement from earlier that morning. About five hours after arriving at the hospital, we were allowed to go home.

While being pushed to the car in a wheel chair, we passed a couple brining home their first baby. The father was proudly video-taping the mother in the wheel chair, baby in her lap. It was a very sad moment to be leaving the hospital, feeling as if I'd done all the work of a labor, and having no joy to show for it. But I was no less happy for them and their first joy. I thought back on our first trip home from the hospital with Dominic and chuckled to myself that this new father would soon be making the slowest, most cautious drive of his life to bring his precious, fragile child home. Our joys were waiting for us at home and in our future. And we take comfort in knowing that God is holding us in His wings and that little Francis Jerome is watching us from Jesus' arms.

Oh, the things kids say

2011-02-01T13:27:00.000-08:00

Dominic, almost four now, is extremely verbal but still manages to amuse us with lingering mistakes. I record some of them for your here for your pleasure and our memories.

"Catie, would you do me a favorite?"

Upon eating potato salad that had that quintessential vinegary taste: "I can't eat it. It's destroying my mouth."

Shutting the door on Cate while she was in the bathroom: "She needs her pridacy."

"Here, take these cards and shuggle them." And also, "Can I go outside and shuggle the snow?"

Dominic finished painting his first picture. As usual I asked, "what is it?" fully expecting his usual answers of "stripes" or "polka dots" or "green". To my surprise, he had actually painted something specific. "It's Papa (Grandpa Gaetano) making a mess and being buried in toys!"

"Can we watch Bugs Rabbit?"

"Mommy, I can't find the 'clause' button on the 'mote."

"I know how to finger it out!"

If you haven't seen Cate, or miss her...

2010-09-20T07:23:00.001-07:00

The Crisp of Fall

2010-09-15T13:30:00.000-07:00

After the stifling heat of Rome, Pennsylvania, Oklahoma, and Minnesota, these days that just linger on the mid-70s are the blessed first, dreamy wisps of fall. That almost imperceptible crispness has returned to the air, and with it, a new clarity to our movements. We can run again. We can picnic at midday. We can turn off the air conditioning. It means a return of baking, soups, and new routines. School has started again, and we, who are too young or too old for school, are home filling our time with letters and sounds, cutting and pasting, reading and re-reading, and taking field trips to fairs and farms.

Next week I'll show Dominic and Cate one of the longstanding joys of my childhood: we'll go apple picking and gorge ourselves on the finest fruits of nature. Honeycrisp, braeburn, and gala. These are a few of my favorite things. Biting into a juicy, extremely flavorful but slightly tart, and, of course, crisp, apple floods my tastebuds and my mind with all the memories stored in that bite. Walking through enormous hanging plastic flaps into the giant refrigerator room at Bauer's Market in La Crescent, MN, where you could taste endless samples of its glorious apples fresh from its orchards. Smelling simmering apples all day and then taking turns cranking and pushing the soggy apples through that crazy machine into quarts and quarts of deliciously pink applesauce to enjoy the whole winter. Stealing apples from the college cafeteria and making apple crisp with all my new friends. Bonding with the somewhat seedy (at that time) Konrad over his peace-offering of as many honeycrisp apples as I could ever want. And opening my dorm door to the Valentine's Day surprise of a giant heart drawn with apples on my bed from my dear husband (now).

I just love the crisp bite of fall. Isn't it amazing what things can be caught up with a taste or smell? Ponder thus.

US Tour

2010-07-22T18:21:00.000-07:00

Sunday marks the beginning of our month-long US tour. It is something of a marathon, making a giant "donut", as my older brother calls it, from Pennsylvania (home) down to South Carolina (vacation), west to Oklahoma (wedding), north to Minnesota (family), east to Indiana (family), and continuing east to arrive back home in Pennsylvania 4 weeks and several thousand miles later. If I counted correctly, we'll be covering eighteen states. Each leg itself will be wonderful, but I'm not too excited about the many hours in the car with two toddlers, champs though they are at travel. But family reunions and weddings are amazing events and not to be missed, so we'll be there, traveling in style in our minivan. :)

View Larger Map

Since being home, we've been thoroughly enjoying the American comforts. In particular, warm, luxurious showers with silken body wash, fluffy, large towels, shower doors that work, hot water that never seems to run out, and excellent water pressure. Tall glasses of free ice water. Big freezers. Big refrigerators. Loading up the car in our driveway and going straight to our destination rather than dragging ourselves, our stuff, and our kids to the bus stop, onto the bus, off the bus, onto the train, and then onto another bus, before arriving in ragged condition at our destination. Mexican food. Chinese food. Burgers. Steaks. Roast beef. Cheddar cheese. Normal milk (not ultra-pasturized). Orange juice (Italian orange juice is very bitter). A large washer in my house and a dryer right next to it. Lots of space, everywhere I look or go. And hearing English, everywhere (well, except at Walmart, when all I hear is Spanish).

But there are things we miss about Italy and, I'm sure, as the novelty of these comforts and conveniences wears out a bit, there will be even more things. I miss the cappuccino. I miss the smell of cappuccino. I miss hearing the ceramic clink of cappuccino cups from the cafes below our apartment. I miss our Danish neighbors. I miss seeing Matt all the time. I miss always knowing exactly where the kids are. I miss the delicious and cheap sweet peppers. I miss the brie, fontina, and edam cheeses. I miss the wine. I miss being able to walk everywhere. I miss the excitment of exploring somewhere new everyday.

So rather than long for what I can't have (everything), I'm vowing to appreciate what I do have. Oh, and to use my stovetop moka to bring a little Italy into my American life with a daily cappuccino.

2010-07-11T08:12:00.000-07:00

Little video of Cate trying out the "new" Jack-in-the-box. I love how, for the first 3 days she played with it, she reacted this same way every single time she made him pop out. The beauty of being a year and a half old.

Video! Cate in her glory

2010-07-02T16:54:00.000-07:00

We've returned! After 20 hours of travel, we were exceedingly glad to arrive safely in York, PA. The kids were surprisingly good, on account of your prayers, I have no doubt, as it was miraculous that we only suffered ten minutes of crying the entire taxi ride, check-in, security, flight, layover, security, flight, baggage claim, and drive. Endless cookies and juice boxes are also a big hit.

We couldn't be happier to be back in the US. It is amazing to have family and friends nearby or just a phone call away. To have a washer and dryer in my own house. To have more than 450 square feet to call our own. To load up a car and go whenever we want, without waiting for a bus that we frantically load, hoping we didn't forget anything or anyone. To eat Mexican, Chinese, and American food. To have a backyard. To have an amazing shower. To know how stuff works. To know how people work. To understand every word spoken to us or around us. The list goes on and on about why we're so glad to be home. Italy was phenomenal and a real adventure full of incredible moments and priceless experiences, but really, there's no place like home.

And with that, we are back to the business of living, American style (although I must confess, I just made a cappuccino in an Italian moka...).

In our little family, both Cate and Dominic are comedians. Dominic is the clever, scheming sort and Cate is the off-the-cuff, body humor sort. Most of you have seen or read stories of Dominic's tricks, but Cate's are much harder to capture. But thanks to our new camera and blessedly high-speed U.S. internet, I've got a little video to share her tricks.

Home on Wednesday!

2010-06-19T23:14:00.000-07:00

As homesick as we've been getting in Rome, it's crazy to believe that our time in Italy is actually almost over. We've had a stream of visitors this last week, giving us a fellowship and a great chance to re-do all the best sites in Rome right before we leave. It's amazing to see how much we've learned about Rome since moving here. I remember the first time I came Vatican City with my parents in October and not knowing where anything was, not being sure if this building was the Vatican Museum, not knowing much about the basilicas, or the trains, and now, after living in Rome for seven weeks, I can give a tour virtually without a map. It's really been quite an experience. But we're ready to pack up and fly home on Wednesday morning. We're ready for family. For friends. For English. For big stuff. For lots of space. For so many small things. We are ready. USA, see you soon!

Monkey See, Monkey Do

2010-06-11T00:16:00.000-07:00

Cate just adores her older brother. She tries to do everything and anything he does, no matter what it is. He throws a stone, she throws a stone. He spits, she spits. He gives me a kiss, she gives me a kiss. I feel like if we can succeed in making Dominic a respectable, godly child, we will have automatically succeeded with Cate too.

Her copy-cat behavior even extends to clothes and potty training. He goes to the bathroom and she always tries to take her pants off too. Here's her most recent display of "brother-worship".

I bambini (The kids)

2010-06-09T01:39:00.000-07:00

Why do their hugs so often look more like attempts to strangle?

"You getting money, Daddy?" I'm ready to spend it. In fact, I'm researching my new toys right now! (see previous post)

Why work?

2010-06-08T12:12:00.000-07:00

Lest you all be too depressed by my last post, here is a little Dominic anecdote for your amusement.

Since the weather has been so beautiful, the kids and I have frequently been walking Matt to the archives in the morning. And Dominic has been struggling to understand why Daddy needs to leave everyday and can't stay and play with him. Also, the archives of the last couple of weeks either close down at 1pm or have a long "break" (quite irritating for him) between, say, 12 and 3ish. So this creates even more situations where we are all together and Daddy has to leave, see below:

Dominic: Where is Daddy going? (asking for the fifth time, at least)
Mommy: To work.
Dominic: Why?
Mommy: To make money.

(This explanation began especially when Dominic put a few Euro coins in the radiator ($3 worth). As annoying as it was, we tried to use the moment to explain the value of money. One way of doing this was to say that Daddy might have to work a little more to make up for the money that Dominic had wasted! OK...so this actually opened up a whole world for him. Now, Dominic asks all the time if Daddy is leaving to go make us more money. When we go the ATMs, he thinks we are "getting" or "buying" money. It must be confusing for him that Matt is gone for so many hours, if it's really that easy to "get" money. He also likes to go around the house taking up offerings in his Elmo frying pan. OK...you probably are getting the gist--cash is clearly on his radar screen now!)

So, Mommy has just callously explained for the umpteenth time that Daddy went to work to go get money. Daddy chimes in to qualify that he is doing much more than making money. If that's all he were doing, well, things would look rather different. He seriously engages with Dominic in a collegial way, as he tends to do with our three-year old son: "Well, Dominic, I am also in the pursuit of the truth about the past. I am trying to correct misconceptions about the history of Christianity." And so on. When Daddy receives a blank stare, he does try a different tactic. "Well, you know how you learn your letters, well, Daddy goes to work to learn other sorts of things. It's just that I also get money for this for our family."

When money re-enters the picture, Dominic's attention has again been piqued and his eyes sparkle again.

Dominic: Why do we need money?
Matt: This is how we buy food, and how we have an apartment. Do you know the books that you have? We get them with money. I'm going to work so you can have more toys...

Now Daddy really has grabbed the attention of his son. He was asking about how this happens and about what kind of toys I was going to get for him. He didn't entirely get the point. So, we finally drop Matt off at the archive. As we walk away, Dominic says, "So Daddy's going to get us money for my toys." I tried to explain, but it obviously didn't work. When Matt returned home hours later and gave his little son a hug, the first thing he asked was,

"So...Daddy...where's my toys?"

(OK, for comic timing, I should probably stop here, but there is another wrinkle. When Dominic said this, Matt started laughing hysterically. For some reason, when that happens, Dominic (with a little smirk on his face) still seriously points at his father and says, "No, Daddy. DON'T LAUGH." We don't know why this upsets him since he's such a comedian. But he has been told that it is wrong to stick his fingers in his parents' faces and to shout at them. He has been taught that there are nice, acceptable alternatives. Well, in this instance, he remembered. His face entirely changes. His voice gets softer and calmer. And, with the sweetest possible intonation, he says, "No thank you, Daddy. Please don't laugh.")

The No-Good, Rotten Week

2010-06-07T05:24:00.000-07:00

This last week I was caught in the clutches of the Eternal City, chewed up, and spit back out. I was locked out of the apartment, my e-mail and facebook accounts were infiltrated by a hacker, and my beloved camera was stolen. It was a no-good, rotten week in the state of Italy.

The first event was simple enough, it could happen to anyone anywhere. In fact, I'm sure it's happened to most of you at some point in your life. But when it happens in city of 2.7 million people and none of them are your friends...well, it moves from "inconvenient" to "crisis."

I loaded up the kids and the stroller for a "quick" trip to the grocery store so we'd be ready for our company that evening (friends from the US!). We were coming back after that so I just took two packs of crackers and a jacket for each instead of the usual assemblage of sippy cup, milk, lunch, snacks, rain cover, toys, books, etc. I also thought it'd be nice to carry a purse with all important items instead of my usual habit of sticking wallet, cell phone, and keys into various pockets on my person or the stroller. I put my purse together, opened the double doors, pushed the stroller and kids out, and shut the door, to realize immediately that I had left that same purse on the shelf and not on the stroller like I thought. Thus I was locked out without money or phone or even a phone number to call, in Rome. I had two kids and a stroller and nothing else save two packs of saltines. Matt wasn't due back until 5:00 pm, just before our company was due to arrive. What was I going to do?

Adrenaline pumping and all dignity aside, I sprinted full speed down our street and rushed down the metro stairs (stroller and kids in tow) to try to catch Matt who had left ten minutes before. We had no other chance. We knew no one save our landlady. I couldn't use an internet cafe without money and a passport. I couldn't call without a phone number to call. I couldn't get back in without the keys. Our only hope was Matt, who was on his way to a new library all the way across town, with a dying cell phone that wouldn't be on until noon, when he was supposed to call me. We made it to the metro landing, only to be thwarted by the fact that we had no tickets or money to pursue onto the metro. Now what?! Dejectedly I made my way back to the apartment, not sure what to do. I was hoping that maybe there was enough Jack Bauer deep within my soul that I could pick the lock or something. But alas, someone shut the outside door which I, in my ingeniousness, had so carefully left cracked and we were completely locked out. I sighed and sat on the curb. Then in desperation, I started sifting through the crumbs in the stroller basket praying, and hoping against hope, that perhaps there were some coins hidden in there. Miraculously, there was one euro. I thought very carefully about what to do with that one euro. I could buy some food so the kids didn't start screaming in two hours. I could make two phone calls. I could try to find an internet cafe that I could persuade to let me in despite no identification. Or, I could go on that metro and find Matt.

I decided to do just that. Having looked up the directions for him last night, I at least knew approximately where he was going and what it was called, even though I had no map and didn't know the area. We had talked about meeting up for lunch because the place closed from 12-2, so I knew he'd have to exit the place at 12 if I couldn't find him or get in earlier. We took the risk of getting across town and having to walk the 6 km back to a locked apartment, but it was our only chance! Again, we braved the metro with the heavy stroller, relying on the goodness of a few Italians who helped me carry the stroller down the stairs. We exited and wandered for about 45 minutes before we found the right church. Then it was all in vain. We arrived at a beautiful church hidden behind a hill and a road with a locked cloister and a buzzer and no obvious library. I couldn't bring myself to ring--what would I say?-- so I resolved that we would just wait the two hours until Matt should come out. A monk was next to the bars, though, so I approached him and asked if there was a library there. He almost laughed out loud (in a kindly way) at the suggestion. A library? We are a very small monastery with just a tiny library for the monks, but nothing for scholars. Perplexing! Nevertheless, I decided to stay. I'm not sure why. Maybe I just couldn't bring myself to abandon hope. At quarter past noon, however, we still had no sign of Matt. Dominic was getting restless and Cate was beginning to scream. While I wanted to sit down and cry and indulge in my misery, I tried to hold it together for the kids, since we gad a long walk ahead of us without any food. Shoulders slumping forward, I plowed along back down the hill. We reached the foot and were just about to turn and lose sight of the church and piazza where we had been waiting for Matt, I looked one last time, out of desperation rather than hope, when I saw the red backpack. My legs responded with the sprinting power of the former tri-state champion that I was, and I heard my voice screaming his name at the top of my lungs, not caring that everyone on the sidewalk was looking at the lunatic running full blast with a red stroller screaming. Then I was behind him in a second. In my joy, I accosted him from behind, startling him far more than he deserved. I have NEVER been soo happy in my life. My best friend. My one friend in Rome. My friend with the cell phone, passport, and the money.

He took care of me, immediately taking command of the stroller to relieve my burden. He commanded that we stop for food. When refreshed, he found an internet cafe while I bought a few groceries. We called the landlady. He helped me with the kids in the metro. He ran ahead to meet the lady in time. He watched the kids so I could get dinner ready for company and he helped me tidy before they came. My one friend in Rome is a pretty good one, I have to say.

Video: Villa d'Este!

2010-06-01T11:01:00.001-07:00

I thought a short video would help you picture this marvelous place with its astonishing array of sixteenth-century fountains. It even had a hydraulic organ! I think the Villa d'Este in Tivoli might be my favorite outing yet. Enjoy!

The Italian Coin Craze

2010-05-30T06:11:00.000-07:00

Remember the coin craze in the US when the Fed started minting special state quarters and only 4 new ones came out each year? There was a mad rush on every bank and endless phone calls for customers desperate to get their newly-minted quarters, desperate to snatch up a roll or two while they were still spankin' new, to fill that lonely CA or TX whole in their coin collection. I worked in a bank for one of those years and dreaded every time a new quarter was released.

Fortunately, the Italian coin craze is not like that. There is no mad dash over the euro, no coin collecting, and no urgent bank runs. And therein lies the real problem: not only no rushing the bank, Italians don't ever (or...very rarely) go to the bank. Not merely average citizens, but the shops, supermarkets, restaurants, etc, just never go to the bank. They rely on their customers to have exact change or make change in such a way that they give you the least amount of change. The idea of requiring change from a vendor is seen as an insult of the highest kind, one only perpetrated by tourists.

Let me give you an example. Just yesterday I was in the supermarket, a large grocery store chain called Billa. It is always crowded and must have a thousand customers a day. The kids and I went at 9am to avoid the hoards of crazed Italians staunchly marking out there territory before the deli, in the aisle, and waiting to check out. You would think that -- this early in the morning -- making change would not be a problem (they open at 8am). But shops do not make a morning run to the bank to get the change they might require for the day, like they do in the US. My total rang up to 20.49 euro. I handed her a twenty and then felt the need to apologize when I also handed her a five. From experience, I knew this apology was necessary to avoid being shunned. After all, I was asking that she give me two two-euro coins and a fifty-cent coin and a penny. That's a lot of change isn't it? How dare I not carry exact change?! She looked at the five as if she didn't quite know what to do with it. She pondered a minute looking at my shopping cart, then she spoke her brilliant scheme. "You have a cart. When you return it, bring me the euro." And she returned my five-euro bill and gave me fifty cents instead, expecting me to bring her the euro when I finished returning my cart. To get a shopping cart, you put a one euro coin in as a deposit. When you return it, you get the euro back.

Other times, Matt has tried to buy bus tickets from a tabaccheria and been refused because he didn't have the right change. He only wanted two, so it should cost 2 euro. But, as no one else gives change either, he only had a ten. This would entail giving him a five-euro bill, a two-euro coin, and a one-euro coin. Outrageous! Once it was around 9:30AM, and they asked if he would wait for them to grab change at the bank because they had none in their registers. He just decided to buy enough tickets to prevent that waste of time. (Once he had to come all the way back from a pizzeria because he only had a twenty-euro bill for a twelve-euro purchase! He needed to come back and grab enough coins... But he would have had to wait for the pizza to bake anyway, I guess.)

Routinely, Italians round up or down by up to 10 cents so that they can give you nothing smaller than a ten-cent piece. Pennies are forgiven if they ever come up. I'm not quite sure why they even exist. And most prices are usually on the euro itself. 1 euro, 2 euro, etc. The idea of .99, .85, etc is simply anathema to them, as it well should be. Who ever thought of doing things that way, anyway? And tax is already included, so, the listed price is the price you'll pay. That's convenient.

But, here in Italy, have the right change, or you will be the utmost inconvenience and have scorn heaped upon your head.

Day Trip: Villa d'Este

2010-05-26T06:13:00.000-07:00

This is the beautiful Renaissance estate of Villa d'Este located in Tivoli, Italy, about an hour bus ride from Rome. It was a sumptuous feast for the eyes and lovely respite for the soul to walk amidst plush manicured gardens and gaze in awe at the water theater playing all around us. We strolled through magnificent fountains of ancient deities, some shooting water 20 feet in the air, some spurting out of stone boats, some lining a sidewalk arena-style, and still others toppling gracefully down the terraced hillside into a gazing pool.

How cool is the Colosseum?

2010-05-16T04:47:00.000-07:00

We visited the Colosseum on my birthday. I figured it would be an absolute shame to spend two months living in Rome and never actually go inside Flavian's famed amphitheater. Built in just ten years during the first century ad and still standing today is quite a feat! It held 50,000 spectators and even had underground tunnels to pipe in water for their mock sea battles! Just standing in the ruins of it almost 2,000 years later still impressed me, but maybe I'm just easily impressed. Dominic, no, he didn't think it was that cool. Check it out for yourself.

San Giovanni in Laterano's most compelling sight

2010-05-15T12:46:00.000-07:00

After slathering up with sunscream, as Dominic always insists on calling it, we headed out for another adventure. It was misting away for the fourth day in a row, so we decided to treat ourselves right and take the "short bus" (also thanks to Dominic, fortunately this name holds no connotations for him yet) and head over to San Giovanni in Laterano, a famous, enormous and old church in Rome and then walk from there to the Roman Forum and the Mamertime Prison where Paul and Peter were held. The church was quite a sight, although not my favorite as far as churches go. A few too many plaster cherubim for my taste. The cloister was very peaceful, though, and would be a beautiful place to make the rounds and pray or contemplate. The highlight for the kids, however, was not the astonishing gold mosaic of the disciples, or the palm tree and roses in the cloister. Quite naturally it was the handicap ramp on the front steps of San Giovanni. After our picnic on the steps, they just climbed the steps and ran down the ramp for at least half an hour, laughing till their little bellies hurt and attracting quite a few amused onlookers. I was fortunate enough to actually capture a little video of it for you...

As usual, we got a little lost on the way back from the church. We made up for it by stumbling upon the Villa Celimontana, which has a great playground and made the kids far more happy (and tired!) than the Roman Forum or Prison would have. So, we revised our plans and took our time wandering back home, past the forum and Palatine hill through the Galleria and Via del Corso, back to our quiet little apartment. I enjoyed a very peaceful walk home, despite having tired, tired feet because my tired, tired children were both sleeping contentedly in our awesome stroller. I even stopped for a cappuccino and cornetto and ate it all by myself, at my own pace (usually I have to eat things faster than I like so Dominic doesn't beg me for more of mine, whatever it is, he's sure to want it).

Enjoy the video!

Rome: Week 1

2010-05-08T12:23:00.000-07:00

So, the real pictures of our new apartment are still forthcoming. But in the meantime, Dominic took a series of pictures from his point-of-view. Matt just flew home today for a week long mandatory "teacher training" session, taking with him loads of heavy books, winter clothes, and other no-longer-necessary items. So only now is the apartment just about settled enough to take decent pictures...stay tuned. We're having a great time and are getting the hang of making daily outings. There are some pictures from the Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, and Castel Sant'Angelo.

Miss you all! Say some prayers for me and the kids this week while Matt is gone in Philly.

At home in Rome

2010-05-04T13:44:00.000-07:00

Or at least that's the goal. We spent last week packing up, running around doing last minute errands and library requests, and saying good byes. With the help of my very generous and kind neighbors--one drove me to the various (hidden) post offices and the others watched the kids--I mailed 80 kg of stuff so that we could just take the train with a few small suitcases, the kids, and the stroller. I had been dreading renting a car and driving it in Rome. Italian rental cars and all stick-shift, and I'm the manual driver in the family. Unfortunately, Matt is the city driver in the family. So...bad news for everyone. He would have had to tend the kids while I maneuvered the tiny one way streets, going up on curbs, and cutting everyone off like my life depends on it, in an unnervingly small car. I opted for the risk of using the Italian post. In the past, Italian post has not turned out so well for us. It was cheap, however, and I'd heard that inter-country mail works much better than international.

With misty eyes, we boarded the train for Rome, psyching ourselves up for the six-hour trip ahead of us. We had decided on the slow, regional train. Besides saving money, there was more luggage space, six-person cars with a door (better for the kids to be contained but allowed to stand), and a better chance of there being empty seats. It turned out well. After Florence, there were two empty seats, one for each kid. They behaved themselves, and we had a fairly seamless journey. Perhaps the only error of the trip was deciding to take the metro instead of a taxi from the train station to our apt. We thought it should be no problem since it was only 3 stops on the metro and then 2 blocks. And indeed, it should have been no problem, but Termini station has no direct elevator to the metro. Neither does our stop. The stairs were horrendous. The bags were heavy. Fortunately, some people were helpful. We made it, but we were very tired.

We met our landlady with no problem and were escorted into our new place, just a few blocks from the famous Porta Popolo. Despite having a strange floor plan: elevated loft with bookshelves for no reason, door and window that separate the living room and the rest of the house, and a galley kitchen with a sliding door, the apartment seemed clean and comfortable. We had already decided the quality of our meals would go down a notch. In Rome, we would sightsee and relish the once-in-a-lifetime experience rather than stay home and spend precious time making elaborate meals in a kitchen that made our previous apartment's kitchen seem spacious. To be fair, although it's small, we now have the advantage of a four-burner gas stove and a larger fridge with freezer. Don't even get me started on the glories of a gas stove! Oh my goodness... It is hot immediately (cutting down on cooking time immensely!). It stops immediately (making it unnecessary to move pots when they need to stop cooking). Fire, ah fire, how I love thee. The freezer also makes it so we don't have to shop every day. I can keep some things in stock there. But, as I mentioned before, we'll be doing simple meals; no roasted duck or chocolate rum cake in Rome. Instead we'll have creative picnics in amazing piazzas.

So we're settling in. I'm finding the grocery stores that'll work for us. The kids are getting used to the new place and enjoying the new sites. Dominic was fascinated by the Roman Forum. He just stared and stared at it, as I pointed things out and explained that a really, really long time ago these were the Romans houses, church, market, etc. As if to add to my list, he pointed at a large stone and sagely added "And rocks!" I think they'll enjoy our time here, although it will be very, very different than our calm routine in Padua.

And, as a good omen, all the boxes came on Monday without a hitch!

Pictures and more adventures to come later.

Got Milk?

2010-04-27T05:32:00.000-07:00

The day began far too early. Our "morning lark" leaped out of bed and scampered to the living room to unzip Cate's bed, so that his best friend, who was peacefully sleeping, would wake up and come play with him. Perhaps you've noticed that I'm not exactly a morning person. Groaning, I rolled out of bed and reluctantly followed after them, knowing deep in my heart that as painful as getting up was, it was infinitely less painful than cleaning up the results of the inevitable mischief should I continue to slumber. The kitchen was a mess from our raucous and late night Settlers of Catan party: mugs, cups, plates, bowls, pan, pot, and lots of silverware. I love having guests and I love making food, but I hate, hate cleaning up. And unfortunately, in a two-room apartment like ours, it's impossible to forget about it because the kitchen can't exactly be "out of sight, out of mind."

But I digress. The real trouble with the morning was that we had no milk. The night before I had made a 6-cup coffee for us all and some hot milk to make our customary cappuccini (plural of cappuccino), but somehow after I put the milk carton away in the fridge, it tipped over and more than half a liter of milk leaked all over the floor. This meant that the next morning, a Sunday of all days, we were out of milk. (All the grocery stores except the one at the train station are closed on Sundays.) Sigh. No coffee to brighten my morning. Nothing to quench Catie's appetite for milk. Another big sigh.

Dominic asks "What's that?"

I respond, "What?"

He then attempts in a hilariously dramatic way to recreate my big sigh: "UUHHhhhh...."

"Oh, I'm just sad we don't have any milk."

"What don't we got any milk from?"

"Scusi?"

The day seemed very bleak in my haggard, caffeine-less state. We don't got any milk from our tiny, fridge with the stupid door and these dumb Italian milk boxes. We don't got any milk from grocery stores being closed on Sunday. Quindi (thus), Mommy don't got any coffee.

I thought the day was just too early and dreary. Four hours later, however, when we scrounged up some milk from the neighbors under the guise of needing some for our daughter, I hardly had enough energy to even make the coffee. Yet twenty minutes later, when I was enjoying the smell and taste of a fresh-brewed mokaccino (made a moka, more on how those work next time), I immediately felt like the world was right again. I loved my life with our little family in Italy once again.

And that's when I began to worry a little. See, I love coffee. I love the smell. I love the taste. The catch is, I love the taste with milk. It's just a little too acrid for me without it; in fact, it's very scientific, I think. I recall once reading something about the fat in milk binding to the tannins and neutralizing the astringency...presumably this is a good thing? Anyway, the truth is, I just like it better. I like having coffee immensely, but I don't like having to have coffee, if you know what I mean. Maybe I should have given it up for Lent...although by this point I'd probably be addicted to it again. Perhaps I'll switch to making 1/2 caff. for a while.

Best Souvenir Ever

2010-04-22T08:04:00.000-07:00

We have acquired the best souvenir possible. But it's not what you might think. By now I'm sure you've ruled out the obvious: a wooden pinocchio, a Venetian glass dish, a miniature Colosseum, a painting of a gondola or St. Peter's, a colorful scarf, an old black and white photograph of St. Anthony's Basilica, a fancy cheese grater, an Italian moka (coffee maker), etc. These are all--with the exception of the corny miniature Colosseums, which are horrendous--very nice things that have their place and do actually represent a true part of Italian culture. Our souvenir, however, is much more unique. We finally have, in hand, our permesso di soggiorno to take home with us!

These permits of stay are really shiny, official looking cards; even the kids have their own. For those of you who have been following our Italian saga from the beginning, you probably recall well the horrendous and entirely un-exaggerated episodes I told of the Italian consulate, police station, and immigration offices where we would wait for hours and hours only to be told yet another tall tale about what new document or special seal or pricey tobacco stamp we needed now. From October until now we have just been waiting (legally) with our receipts for these electronic permits of stay to come. We found out that they were finally ready, so I went in person, kids in tow, a few days ago to make the appointment (naturally you must go in person to make an appointment) to collect the permits. And today we went, to at last pick up the results of our five hundred dollars and literally thirty hours of running mazes of red tape. To me, getting our permessi di soggiorno is the best souvenir we could ever get: proof that we have joined the ranks of the elite few who have successfully made it through the ever-changing hoops of Italian bureaucracy.

Three-year-old Dominic

2010-04-15T05:02:00.000-07:00

...has a lot to stay and plenty of opinions to voice.

I don't like it. I want to throw up in my tummy.

I can't (finish his food) because I eat too much and my feelings will get hurt.

We were walking to the park, and I was pointing out all the new life growing around us.

-See those bushes. They're blooming!

-Where? Where are they blue?

Here's a longer story, but still amusing. It begins at bedtime, I'm putting him to bed and he overhears Matt talking on Skype in the other room about Notre Dame.

-Is Daddy talking about Notre Dame?
-Yes.
-What's he saying?
-He's talking about how we're going to go to Notre Dame to stay with Uncle Stephen and Aunt Sarah and Michael. Would you like that?
-Yeah. I would. I love them.
-And we will see Uncle Eli, Aunt Kathryn, Stephen, Eliana, Abigail, and the new baby very often.
-The new baby! I love the new baby!
-Do you love babies, Dominic?
-Yeah.

(Out of curiosity, I just couldn't resist; no, no #3 on the way), Dominic, do you want Mommy and Daddy to have a new baby?

-Yeah. I do! (actually he got kind of excited here)
-But isn't Cate still a baby?
-(thinks for a minute) No.
...She's a kid.

Next story. Cate was wearing a green bow to match her cute green skirt.

-I don't want her to wear that bow. Take it off.
-Why Dominic? It's really nice.
-No. I want her to wear the PINK one!

Yet another story. It was dinner time. We were having some sort of pasta with vegetables and no salad.

-Mommy. Can I have some salad? (At my slight resistance, he looked so very pathetic...) Please?

Well...I hadn't been planning on making salad but who can resist a 3 year-old's pleas for salad? Wouldn't that make me bad mother extraordinaire?!

-And can it have carrots? and tomatoes? (more pathetic-ness) Please?

As you can imagine, he got his salad.

To Queue or Not to Queue

2010-04-10T03:47:00.000-07:00

I just had some friends, Trevor and Anna, visit who are living in London and came to Italy to do some sightseeing. They brought this cultural difference about "queuing" to my attention, and it rings wholly true with my experiences.

So, the question is: to queue or not to queue? If we were in England, the States, or any northern European country like Denmark or Sweden, the answer would be terribly obvious. Queue. Duh. In fact, there would be no discussion about it. Just get in the single file line and wait your turn, like everybody else. Oh and don't talk about it. That's rude. Just wait.

In Italy, the idea of "queue" does not really exist. The mob mentality is king. For example, when we were trying to get our Permits of Stay. We had arrived early and were waiting outside the ominous metal gate of the Questura police station, poised at the front of the line...or so we thought. People kept coming and coming and coming, but they wouldn't line up behind us, snaking neatly to the end of the block. No. They lined up next to us, making an ever wider line, occasionally going back a row as the space didn't allow any more horizontal expanding. They were pressing on the metal gate, rattling the bars to get in, and shouting, like raved lunatics at rock concerts. And, to our utter dismay, as soon as the door was opened, people smashed their way through, jamming their papers at the attendant in no particular order and rushing for a seat inside the waiting room. And the attendants allowed this! Since I had to maneuver the double stroller and, of course, any double stroller no matter how high end or awesome, simply cannot compete against the highly adaptable pedestrian, I fell behind in the line while Matt pressed forward, hunting for the family, scouring places to sit and getting our papers in the stack. This, however, gave me the chance to observe what was really happening. After the gatekeeper got all the papers, she shuffled them around, moving one after the other into some sort of actual order. It appeared that they were actually going to honor the appointment times after all and call the names of the earliest appointments first! The mob was just waiting to get inside and get seats! But this is just one example of what happens everyday. The bus "lines" are exactly the same way, except no one is there to arbitrate. It's not "first come, first serve," but rather "first and fastest (or pushiest)." Cafes are the same, tobacco shops (we buy bus tickets there), stores, and most certainly, government agencies.

The only two exceptions are the post office, deli, and the grocery store checkout. The post office and deli are each run by a number system that is very similar to the D.M.V. in the States. You grab a number from the machine. Then you wait until it flashes on the overhead sign. Presto, your turn. In the mean time, everyone loiters around looking very ill at ease. But nothing can be worse than the annoyance and paranoia at the grocery store checkout line. At the supermarket, Italians are forced to queue. It is as if it sucks the life from them. They wait impatiently, always looking irritatedly at the people in front of them and behind them. They snatch the divider stick and emphatically place it between your stuff and theirs. I know I've written about that before, so I'll spare the details. (If you missed that post it's here To market, to market.)

Maybe it simply boils down to a language difference. In English we have a the letter "q". But in Italian, they lack the letter "q". It has become painfully apparent that they don't have a "q" about queuing.

After Three Months, the Guest Blog You’ve All Been Waiting For

2010-04-05T16:18:00.000-07:00

Now everybody just calm down. Don’t panic. Amy WILL be back with her always witty, always hilarious stories of our favorite world travelers. I am just adding a little something extra-may I say, some flair. But I guess you all will be the judge of that. (And for those of you who are gasping that I, the queen of procrastinators, finally got down to writing this, I forgive you.)

It would be impossible to relate all of the wonderful things I saw, foods I ate, and sounds I heard while in Italy. Words would fail to describe even just the views I got to experience from the windows of the train. That is why I am going to tell you about one city that most have probably not heard of, and the day that our traveling troupe did not plan in the least. Upon waking up that fateful morning, Matt, Amy, the kids, and I planned to take an excursion to the House of Petrarch. We wished to see the place where the love poem might first have been developed and where the frescoed walls were illustrated with sonnets depicting Petrarch’s love for Laura (the woman of his unrequited love). We took the bus and then the train to where we thought we would catch another bus and see the place we so longed for. But instead of finding another bus, we found a tourist hub where the man behind the counter explained that it would be quite a challenge reaching the house without pockets lined with euros. Instead of returning to the apartment defeated travelers, we allowed the courageous Amy to lead us onto the train where we took a ten minute ride to the city of Monselice- our knowledge of this place only coming from a brochure Amy had snagged in the tourist hub. None of us knew what to expect. Would there be anything to see, do, or if all else fails, eat? Would our spontaneity really pay off? (I’m imagining you all already know the answer.)

It did! Monselice was a quiet fortified city, set up on the side of the Eugean Hills. We took the walk on the Via del Santurario which led us uphill on a winding, cobbled street. Besides the hassle of pushing the stroller up the road, it was a quaint and old-world kind of experience. On the walk we saw parts of a castle and a Romanesque church, but the most memorable part was what we called the “Path of Healing.” Near the top the trek was a metal gate that opened to a row of seven small temple looking churches on the left and a view of the town below on the right. (A little wikipedia research told me that in the 1600s, pilgrims were allowed to visit these seven churches in place of the seven main churches of Rome.) A larger church at the end of the path was connected to a villa which was in turn connected to a large set of stairs. The view of the town from the stairs was nice, but the excitement of happening upon such an interesting place was the real fun. After spending some time up at the top, relishing in our find, we took the train and bus home. In celebration of our successful spontaneity and to top off our amazing day, we had “Movie Night With Aunt Lana.” Toy Story 2, Pizza, and snacks. What more could you ask of a single day?

Is it really worth it?

2010-04-05T07:13:00.000-07:00

Or, as they say in Italian, "Vale la pena?" Is it really worth it to go through all the trouble of using artichoke hearts? Right now artichokes are just coming into season, so we can find them very easily. They're still not super-cheap, but they're at least affordable and incredibly tasty. I decided to have a go at using fresh artichoke hearts, harvesting them myself from a whole artichoke. With them, I was going to make an artichoke parmesan quiche that looked pretty delicious. If that went well, I had plans to make artichoke au gratin potatoes for Easter. Marcella Hazan, author of my new cookbook, The Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, just made my mouth water for artichokes going on about how tender, enjoyable, delectable, and glorious artichoke hearts are. When she wrote "the only exacting part of this recipe is in fact the trimming away of all the tough, inedible parts that usually makes eating artichokes a chore," I think she made a profound understatement. It probably took me half of an hour to prepare two artichokes. First, wash them. Then, snap back all the leaves from the outside inward. Next, run a paring knife around the inside to scrape out all the prickles, taking care not to damage the most tender heart. Finally, still using the paring knife, peel the stem and trim any tough leaves (most of the outside). To be fair, the second one went a lot faster than the first. The results are below. On the left is a fresh and untouched artichoke. On the right is the pile of discarded and unusable leaves, stem, prickles, etc, from the first artichoke I did. Then, the tiny pile on the bottom is the artichoke heart and stem that I harvested for my recipe. Really? Is it worth it?

This pictures below is the artichoke after I had stripped it of inedible leaves and prickles. Not the prettiest job (I guess that comes with practice, assuming I ever do it again).

And this final pictures shows the two cut up artichokes being sauteed in butter. I must say, they were mouth-wateringly good. It was a shame to have them covered up in a quiche. I would have preferred to enjoy their delectable qualities alone, unsullied by any other flavors. Perhaps next time, that's what I'll do. Then they will be worth the trouble to enjoy their glory in full.

The delicate balancing act of mothering

2010-03-31T08:00:00.000-07:00

Inspiration and time seem to have made their return at the same time. Convenient, isn't it? So, if I'm reading the stars correctly, this means my blog might just have some new posts on it this month!

Have you ever experienced utter amusement simultaneous with very sincere embarrassment? It was very unique, and even somewhat exhilarating, I must say.

The scene: a nice grill-out (with many people I didn't know) in a lovely park full of similar grill-outs.

I was getting something for Cate and had my back turned for about one minute from where Dominic was wandering around watching Italian children. Suddenly I got the sense that everyone was looking in that direction. I turn around to make sure it wasn't Dominic. What do I see? Dominic's bare bottom with pants around his knees, standing in front of a tree taking care of business no more than ten feet from our picnic. To make matters even funnier, he was facing another group of picnickers. Again, no more than ten feet away.

For some reason, though, this struck me as utterly amusing. And yet, everyone was looking, waiting to see who the mother was that had such an indecent son. So, while trying to hold my laughter in, and yet, feeling embarrassment in the center of my being, I went to retrieve retrieve my son and instruct him in the proper way to pee on a tree. Thankfully, the people with the frontal view were amused. But really, how funny. He had followed the right instructions. He found a tree in a park. I guess I had forgotten to instruct him to find a tree away from people.

Photos from Florence, Siena, Pisa!

2010-03-12T06:48:00.000-08:00

I uploaded over one hundred images and videos to our Picasa web album. So, if you're interested in taking a look at them (I didn't embed it directly because I was afraid my blog would start uploading, as my dad would say, slower than molasses in January) just click on that blue link. There are also pictures in there of a funny photo shoot of the kids dressed up... (Grandma and Grandpa brought them adorable Easter outfits, so we put them on early so they could see them). We had a great time with Momma and Poppa Gaetano. They rented an apartment in Florence for a week, and then we made day trips to Pisa and Siena. The weather was crummy for all but one day (Pisa), but it didn't matter. Just being together again made all of us very, very happy. So between our joy and frequent cups of cafe, we had a marvelous time. Blog posts to begin again soon...

Tutto Okay

2010-02-21T03:53:00.000-08:00

Another long blog absence...We were struck down by chest colds (Matt and Amy), fever (Cate and Amy), flu or perhaps food poisoning (Dominic and Amy), and an eye infection (Cate). After 5 days, I think we're definitely on the mend now. I'll spare the details, but there is one funny story that came out of this that is too good to pass up, which highlights Dominic's cheery personality and perfectionism all at once.

After Dominic threw up all over the bed, we gave him a bucket and instructed him on what to do. He nodded and lay down to try to sleep. A few minutes later we heard the dreaded sound and came in to see how he was. But before we get there, we here this cheery little voice announce, "I'm not very good at this." Apparently, he had partially missed the bucket. Sweet Dominic. Even in his sickness, is thinking about his performance...

Italian Fashion

2010-02-11T05:12:00.000-08:00

"To be out of fashion is more criminal than to be seen in a state of nature, to which the Parisians are not averse." (Abigail Adams, becoming acquainted to French custom)

The Italians might agree...

These puffy, shiny jackets are all the rage. Note also the man scarf on this stylishly-grayed husband. Knee-high boots (thigh-highs are also popular) and skinny jeans. Also notice their one child and his fur collar, who is sitting in their posh, very expensive stroller. Gotta love the classic Italian style. I'll try to periodically post some pictures of Italian fashion for your inspiration or amusement.

The Art of Persuasion, Lesson 1

2010-02-10T07:45:00.000-08:00

So, Daddy was instructing Dominic in the art of persuasion. It was his turn to do the bedtime routine with the kids, and Dominic was putting up a huge fuss. For some reason, he wanted Mommy to read his stories. He threw himself on the ground, yelling I WANT MOMMY. And he was getting nowhere. Zero sympathy from me.

A tired Daddy, hoping to get out of reading Uncle Willy (Richard Scary's Bedtime Stories) again, whispered to Dominic that he needs to say, "Mommy, you're soo beautiful. Mommy you're soo wonderful. Would you read me a bedtime story? Just tonight. As a special, special treat." So, Dominic came over and was trying to say it all just right to me. But he got stuck after "Will you read me a bedtime story?" So he looked at Matt and said, "What next?" Matt, of course, fed him the rest of the lines. Dominic carefully repeated them very sweetly to me. But when he said, "As a special, special treat." He paused and looked up very excitedly: "Can I eat it?"

I did end up giving in and reading him his bedtime story, so I guess Daddy's lesson in the art of persuasion was successful after all.

The Answer Is

2010-02-08T11:10:00.000-08:00

All right...the answer is...

CATERPILLARS!

Why? We have no idea. In fact, I'm not really even sure how he knows about caterpillars. I don't think he's ever seen a real one, we don't even have Eric Carlyle's book, The Hungry Caterpillar. The only thing I've ever done is make little play-doh balls and stick them together, adding eyes to the front one, and tell Dominic it was a caterpillar. And then another day he lined up a bunch of coins and proudly told me he made a caterpillar. But scary? And going to eat him? I have no idea...he's a weird little boy.

Scared!

2010-02-07T02:28:00.000-08:00

So, Dominic woke up crying in the middle of the night. Mommy to the rescue.

--Dominic, Dominic, what's wrong?

--I'm scared.

--What are you scared of?

--They're going to eat me!

Okay, guessing time, what is Dominic scared of?

Alberto

2010-02-05T00:50:00.000-08:00

I came home from church today giddy with excitement at my conversation with Alberto. I felt like a little school girl. He was so interesting. He was so nice. He was so...Italian!

No, not a crush, of course. More like a sense of triumph. Alberto is my once-a-week Italian friend at church. The first week he came up to say hi, I felt so sheepish. I could only reply, "Ciao. I'm sorry I don't speak Italian, but I'm learning" to his friendly Italian "overtures".

About a month went by when this Alberto came up to me again and tried again to speak to me. That time I was able to say a little more, although I still understood very little. I could tell him my name, that I was married and had two kids, and what we were doing here. We left on friendly terms, and I felt encouraged that I was able to say a little more.

Since then, we've had several conversations, and each time he encourages me that I am speaking more than the last time, and certainly far more than the first time. Sometimes I get discouraged that I can't say what I want, but it's hard to gauge my own progress. This sort of outside measure has proved to be most encouraging. Each time I am understanding more and able to say more.

This last time, I felt great about our interaction. One, I understood 75% of what he was saying and, most importantly, I was beginning to be able to ask questions if I didn't catch what he was saying. For some reason, it has taken me a long time to feel comfortable asking a question regarding my comprehension. I guess in order to do that, I need a reasonable assurance that a clarification will help me catch it the second (or third) time, otherwise it's just a waste of time and embarrassing. Second, we had an interesting conversation about the US and Italy. It had snowed about an inch again today, so I asked him if this was typical. He told me that it was colder this year, and it doesn't usually snow in Padua. I asked if he liked the cold, and he told me he much preferred the warmth (wild gestures here). Then he asked about the weather of Philadelphia (we always say we're from Philadelphia, it's much easier for Italians, who have frequently at least heard of it, instead of Pennsylvania or York). I told him it was colder in the winter and hotter in the summer than Padua. He told me a funny thing. "I thought so," he said. "I remember very well the first time that I saw you, you had on a short-sleeve shirt and all the Italians were wearing long-sleeve shirts. That was how I knew you were not Italian. We were all so cold and you were not. You could not be from here."

Really, that was what gave it away? I was giddy about this discovery. Yes, I talked to a real Italian and I understood a more complicated conversation. But I also uncovered something that Matt and I had been talking about. What gives us away as non-Italians? Italians don't often assume that we're from the US, for some reason. Spain is actually the most frequent assumption; last week, Lana and Matt were identified as Portuguese! But why? Often we haven't even talked, or we say something that is very typical and, at least in our opinion, sounds pretty Italian. What is it? It seems that it is these very small cultural things, things that we don't even think twice about. Like a short-sleeved shirt in September. Because it is still hot.

Cheerios and Salt

2010-02-03T00:45:00.000-08:00

What's that proverb?

A little sleep, a little slumber,
a little folding of the hands to rest-
and poverty will come on you like a bandit,
and scarcity like an armed man.

Yes, indeed.

A little sleep cost us a box of cheerios. And a shaker of salt. A lot of aggravation. And thirty minutes of cleaning.

So what happened? Dominic slipped out of the room without our notice. We were slumbering peacefully away until we were jostled from happy-land by an unusual scream from Cate, who had, I gather, finally gotten tired of having Dominic in her pack n' play. I'm not sure how long he had been there before she had had enough. All I know is that it was long enough for Dominic to get breakfast for the two of them. He had taken the two boxes of honey nut cheerios off the counter and threw them into Cate's bed, then climbed over the rail into bed with Cate and the cheerios. Together they were smashing in cheerios, dumping them out into the pack n' play. For easier access? For play? I'm not sure. I guess they thought the cheerios were getting a little boring tasting, though, because Dominic then took the salt shaker off the table and began pouring it's contents on top of the cheerios.

During the cross-examination of incomprehension at this travesty, I kept asking Dominic, "Why? WHY Why did you do it?" He was at a loss and just stared at me, not getting it. He shrugged and added, "I pour 'em, for Catie. See, I sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle," he told me as he demonstrated just how to shake a salt shaker.

Sigh. Well, at least one bag of cheerios was still sealed...

Proverbs 24:33-4

As I took this picture, Dominic said, "Mommy are you taking a picture of my cheerios? Do you want to take a picture of my doggies too?"

Blog Sabbatical

2010-02-01T10:40:00.000-08:00

I've been absent from the blogosphere for quite some time. I do sincerely apologize for depriving you of my wit and charm. I know that this is the reason you surf the net, perhaps even the reason you get up in the morning; I am truly sorry. There are several reasons--most of them legitimate--for this unplanned blog sabbatical.

First, Matt's sister, Marialana, came for a wonderful two-and-a-half week visit. Since she chose to spend her J-term here in Italy with us instead of taking an intensive three-week course at college, we made our best attempts to give her a little Italian crash course. Matt and Lana took a little brother-sister trip to Florence and Rome for five days, doing a blitz of the major sites that would not have been possible with the pace and luggage of kids. Once back in Padua, we did some more sight-seeing all together of Padua and the surrounding area. We tried to take Lana to see Petrarch's house in Arqua Petrarca (about an hour away), but it ended up being impossible to reach by bus, so we ended up taking a ten minute train ride to the nearby town of Monselice, a charming village with medieval walls and a scenic walk/pilgrimmage of seven "churches" winding their way up a hill to a large church at the top.

Leaving Matt behind to do some work in the archives, Lana and I took the kids to Verona together and, by a wrong turn, discovered the amazing Roman Theater and Archeological Museum. I posted pictures of that about a week ago. It was originally a Roman theater dating back to the second century (AD). On top of this was a temple. Then, the Gesuati built a monastery and the marvelously frescoed church of St. Jerome above this. Built even higher up into the hill was the Castel di San Pietro (Castle of St. Peter). As we went higher and higher, the view of beautiful Verona and its river just kept getting more and more spectacular. This was a nice reward for poor Lana since she ended up carrying Dominic almost the entire way. (Cate was already in the baby carrier on me, sleeping.) We didn't get a chance to go to the very top because the castle is only open on Sundays, but it was an amazing find.   I think it was even more exciting because we found it by chance, peeking in through a side gate at the towering ruins, wondering, "What's THAT?" and then discovered that it was a museum with a cheap entrance fee!

Lana and I made a little trip to Venice by ourselves. We left Matt and the kids back at the apartment because of the frigid weather and the annoyingly abundant stairs in Venice. It was still magical despite the weather. We had a lot of fun trying out the cozy (code for: crowded, standing room at bar only) cafes to try a toasted panini, cappuccino, and fritelle. The best cafes are, apparently, jam-packed with people. You weasel your way to the bar, give your order to one of the two bartenders when they ask, wait for it, take it to some corner of the floor, trying to stay out of the way of the opening doors and the fifteen other people vying for room in the warmth of the cafe. Should the cafe have a table or two, you will pay a premium for it. The prices are often 100% more for taking you drink at a table instead of a bar.    You don't pay until after you consume your drink or food. Very interesting. They must make a killing. All the panini and wraps are pre-made. I'd say the average customer only stays 8 minutes. One guy makes drinks and the other guy heats up the panini. Very small space (although this particular place was very classy with polished wood bars, glass sliding doors, and a hanging, mirrored display of drinks. Brilliant. Amazing.

So Marialana is the first reason that you've been deprived. I'll try to get her to do a guest post on something she saw for a fresh perspective on Italian life to make up for it. :)

The second reason is that we intensified our potty-training efforts and with great success! We can now proudly boast of having a "mostly potty-trained" son. Perhaps by 3 he'll be completely there. Just diapers at night now, and we've had several days without any accidents--or splashes, as he refers to them (because he gets a slash on the paper instead of a star)--including going on several lengthy outings.

The third reason is that our internet has been dysfunctional, again. Or still, depending on your perspective. Server error. Internet not working. This time for four days. I actually wrote a whole stash of posts off-line a few days ago, figuring that I should just stop stalling, get down to business, and restore the sunshine to your lives...

Why I love Itay...

2010-01-22T02:44:00.000-08:00

Lana, the kids, and I made a little day-trip to Verona and, after taking a backroute through the city, just happened upon this sight. The bottom picture is to the left of the top picture and taken from the top of this theater-like thing. They're both built into the hill and extend upwards for some distance. What do you think? What is/was it?

Warmth, At Last!

2010-01-15T14:39:00.000-08:00

The heater is finally working. I wouldn't say it got fixed. But it is working.

So, for about two weeks, I'd been calling, writing e-mails and dropping by our house "secretary's" flat to find a fix for our broken bedroom heater. Let me share the lovely Italian absurdity with you.

I see the "secretary", il Signor Federico, in the hallway. I take my chance to inform him of my need.

-Mi scusi. The heater in our bedroom is broken. It isn't putting out any hot air. Can we have someone come and fix it?
-The what? Where? Oh, okay. Right away.

I was skeptical. He probably wouldn't remember it at all. It had taken 2 months to get him to get us a new chair for our apartment. The first time he told me he needed to order one. The second time he told me he was waiting for it. And the third time, when I asked if it had come yet, he looked very, very confused and told me we could just have the chair from his apartment, which he promptly carried to our apartment.

So...about 3 days later, I went to the other residence to pay our rent at the other residence. Keenly remembering the last time, I requested again:

-Scusi, our heater does not function. It is broken. It is very, very cold in our bedroom when we sleep at night. (Notice how much I repeat myself and how I simplify everything to terrifying horrible English in an attempt to get understanding and action).
-Oh, yes? I'm sorry but the man who can fix it is away. You will have to wait until Monday.
-May I have extra blankets since it is so cold?
-Ok. I will have the housekeeper leave one for you at your door.

One? But we are three people...Sigh. For the shock of a lifetime, however, I got
home and there was actually a blanket waiting for me! Hooray. Now at least one of us would be warm enough at night.

Monday came, I had waited the whole weekend expectantly, eager for heat to come with Monday. But Monday came and went and still no repairman. No apology. No nothing. Did I really think that someone would come? Really? Yes, sadly, I still believed that secretaries follow through, that repairmen come, and that heat matters. How American can you get?

Tuesday came and goes. Still nothing. I read a notice that Federico Fantuzzi had gone on "holiday" and would not be available to assist the residents, but if you should need assistance either wait until he returns or e-mail the Accomodation office. "Yes!" I thought. This is my chance. I can go around Mr. Fantuzzi without being caught! I e-mail them right away. At least I have a chance of someone else hearing my plea. I then experienced the single most un-Italian thing I have ever experienced since coming here...

I got an e-mail response back in 30 minutes. He asked for clarification if it was the heater in the bedroom or living room. I responded quickly and then he again responded an hour later and said that someone would come that day to look at it.

Having learned from the last empty promise, I did not anticipate. I was not expecting an actual man to show up. So when the door bell rang just two hours after I got the e-mail promise, I was very startled and a bit confused at who it could possibly be at the door. But it was "the man" (yes, the legendary man who can fix everything! Dominic really believes that there is a miracle worker--who he refers to simply as "the man"--who can put broken crackers back together, take mold off walls, and make things work again.) He came! He looked at the heater and declared it to be "rotto". Literally, broken. The worst part was that he would not be able to fix it and needed to call another "technico" or so I learned via our interpreter on the other side of a cell phone that we passed back and forth. Would tomorrow be okay? Tomorrow would be perfetto.

Did I think that new man would ever come? No. With a window of "between 2 and 5," something was sure to go wrong. But, I got a phone call in Italian and I understood enough to know that the "technico" was here and coming. Oh my gosh!!! This is it. We're going to have heat again! I hastily woke up a grumpy Cate and moved her to the other room. I shoved aside the beds and made a nice path to the heater. He came in and examined the heater. He turned it on and looked at me strangely. "Non funzione?" "It doesn't work?" Lacking words, I simply responded, "Si, e rotto." Since he spoke no English and I speak little Italian, he gestured to me to come over and feel the heater. It was blowing out warm air. Inexplicably, it had begun working. How embarrassing! But, but...it was broken! Even the man yesterday said it was! I tried to protest in Italian that I didn't know how it was working. It was broken for two weeks, but I don't think he bought it. He simply thought I was an ignorant and silly American girl wasting his precious time.

Sigh...

And that is how our heater came to work without actually being fixed.

Movie Time

2010-01-14T09:12:00.000-08:00

In lieu of anything witty or inspiring, I offer you some video entertainment:

Take the Key and Lock Her Up

Chrstmas Lights!

Amy spikes a good one

Hot Cross Buns

Did you know?

2010-01-12T03:41:00.000-08:00

Not having any inspiration, I have turned to my ever-ready source of comedy once again. Here we go.

1) Anyone growing up with the classic Bible songs will appreciate Dominic's latest...

"I'm in the Lord's R.V. Yes! I'm in the Lord's R.V. ..."

Now that's a funny mental picture. I didn't know the Lord traveled around in a recreational vehicle, did you?

2) Everyone knows the song, "clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere," right? Dominic sang:

Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere.
Clean up, clean up, everybody do your share.
First you pick up all the toys
Then you...

Here he got flustered and changed it to

Then you...get a treat.

Not remembering the next line either, he paused the appropriate amount of time for one line and then made up the words

Then you...get another treat!

I think I like his version better. Clean up and get a treat. Clean up and get another treat! It seems like the perfect way to motivate myself.

Vanity, Thy Name is Dominic

2010-01-11T23:45:00.000-08:00

To Market, to market

2010-01-07T06:33:00.000-08:00

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig;
Home again, home again, dancing a jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.

What could explain the Italian lifestyle more aptly than this little Mother Goose rhyme. Again I go to market, once each day, and still every time I come home, I dance a little jig! It's hard to just list all the quirks of an Italian shopping trip, so I'll just let you be a fly on the wall during a typical trip to the super-market.

I walk 3 blocks to the store, usually with kids in toe, but sometimes alone. Upon reaching the parking lot, I decide whether I need a shopping cart (carrello) or shopping part, as Dominic calls it. If I do, I must insert a euro as a deposit which releases the cart from the others that it's chained to. If I don't need a shopping cart or can't use one because I'm pushing a stroller, I pick up either a regular plastic basket or a wheeled deeper basket, both conveniently and confusingly also called carrello.

First is produce. The produce department looks like a scaled down version of what we're used to in the US. But don't you dare reach for any produce with your bare hands unless you want to incur the wrath (or disdain) of your fellow shoppers! Stop. You must get a plastic glove and the plastic bag to put the lettuce into. All right, phew, now you can put it into the bag. But don't forget to weigh it. I have to put it on the scale, press the number that corresponds and wait for the label to print out. I wouldn't recommend forgetting to do this as it will hold up the entire check out line while the cashier glares at you, then runs back to the produce department to print out the label.

Now on to the bread. Take your pick of freshly baked type 00 bread. I'm not really sure what "tipo 00" bread (pane) means yet, but it's delicious. It's best when it's still warm. Crunchy on the outside and soft of the inside. I typically pick up a baguette for 57 euro cents and some rolls. The only trouble is that the bread and produce are in the first part of the store so my basket now has several smashable items on the bottom. Who designed grocery stores anyway?

All right, now I need to get some lunch meat (carne) and a roasted chicken (pollo da spiedo). I've finally conquered the deli counter. It took me 2 1/2 months to even work up the courage to try it! But I've got it down now. Not so for the fish counter. Maybe next week... So, I grab a number. Then I loiter in front of the deli cases with the masses, always trying maintain the delicate balance of being close enough to see but far enough to be out of the main traffic, until I see my number flash on the screen or hear it yelled out, if the screen isn't working yet again. I need to keep my ears perked and the stroller ready. If I'm not up to the counter in a flash, no go. They move on to the next person. Once I got used to it, it's actually very convenient and keeps things moving. "Hai bisogno?" they ask me. Literally, "do you have need?" Umm...yes. Then I tell them what I want and how many "etti" of it. (An etto is a tenth of a kilogram, or about 1/4 of a pound, as I just realized.)    I always pray that they don't ask me any questions otherwise I'm usually forced to just repeat my original request or resort to hand gestures. After getting that, they ask, "poi?" Literally, "then?" I say, "vorrei un pollo da spiedo" or, "I'd like a roasted chicken." After getting that, they ask, "poi?" and I respond, "basta" while making the "that's all" hand gesture (same in Italian).

Moving on. Next, I go to the refrigerated dairy section for milk, yogurt, and cheese.   Not too difficult. I just decide if I want whole milk (intero) or skim milk (parzialmente scremata). Yogurt is probably the easiest to choose. They import German joghurt, but the containers look the same, and they always have pictures of the fruit on them. You can also get chocolate-chip flavored (straciatella) or coffee (caffe) flavored yogurt, if you wish... Deciding on a cheese can be very overwhelming. Cheddar doesn't exist. Stare all I want at the cheeses and their tastes will become no more apparent. Something with holes probably is a form of swiss. Anything else, squeeze it gently to see if it's a hard or soft cheese. Besides that? I see if I can recognize any of the names or I just take a gamble. Almost all the cheeses we've tried have been delicious. One nice thing is that in addition to the commercial cheeses, sold in prepackaged wrapping like edamer, asiago, fontal, etc. the deli has a refrigerator section with deli-packaged cheese sections. They sell an 1/8 of a round of brie or feta or gorgonzola. They sell wonderful "grateable" cheese like parmigiano reggiano (the real parmesan cheese), grana padana, and pecorino romano, but you'd better own a cheese grater because you hardly ever find any grated cheese, only the hard blocks. But the cheese graters are amazing here, just like in fancy Italian restaurants. Today I picked out some provolone dolce for sandwiches and a block of the original, authentic parmigiano reggiano (my favorite) for making sauces and sprinkling on anything that might taste better with it (just about everything).

On my first shopping trips, I was so perplexed about eggs. They're not in the refrigerator section. Where are they? I'm not really sure how or why, but they store them on the shelf, next to the "shelf milk". It's a section with sugar, eggs, milk, and then coffee and tea. Very strange. So far we haven't gotten sick, though. The eggs do have very orange yolks but otherwise they seem perfectly normal. I prefer the "refrigerator milk" because I'm a little skeptical of what must go into this shelf UHT milk, but it does taste okay if you put in the fridge (room temperature milk still weirds me out).

The kids are getting a little antsy, so I'm going to keep this a short trip. I'll buy a lot of the other things we need like canned tomatoes, pesto, pasta, boxed juice, and wine at Prix, a discount grocery store across the street. I maneuver my way to the check out line. If I have the kids and only a basket of groceries Italians will frequently tell me by their words and gestures to go ahead of them. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten to skip the lines. Let's just say that preference for women and children still exists here.   So now there's just one person in front of me. With Dominic's help, we put everything up on the conveyor belt, being very careful to leave a large space between our groceries and those of the person in front of us. And, most importantly, as soon as a divider stick is available we immediately put it between our stuff and theirs. And again, as soon as possible, another one behind our stuff.   I haven't quite figured out the rationale for this but Italians are like hawks about this divider stick. It's almost like a game that everyone plays--except that no one is aware it's going on. If their is only a gap of 3 inches between your stuff and theirs they anxiously watch you, wondering when you're going to get it together and grab a divider stick. Or if they're fed up they might ask you to pass them one, if they're still more brazen they might simply reach over you to get one, and if they're passive-aggressive, they will just re-pile their stuff to be farther from yours. Are they afraid your groceries might eat theirs? That the cashier will inadvertently ring up theirs with yours or yours with theirs? Then what? Can they not reverse this? And where are they planning to go in the two minutes it takes to ring up their groceries? Won't they notice if Giovanni's sugar is rung up with their stuff? Or won't Giovanni notice if his lettuce sneaks up to the cashier and is placed in Mariana's bag? It's bizarre. But don't forget. Not unless you want the death stare.

Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.

A few recent "Dominic's"

2010-01-01T12:51:00.000-08:00

Here are some pictures of Christmas Eve and Christmas. After that, I listed a few of the funny things Dominic has been saying lately.

We heard Cate screaming a sort of muffled scream. Matt ran in to check on her and found nothing suspicious.

M: What's going on in here? What'd you do?

D: Nothing. I'm just being her protector.

It happened again just a minute later. Matt went in.

M: What's going on in here? What happened?

D: Nothing. I'm just trying to help her be a good...uh...boy.

After cousin Michael was born, we were discussing this with Dominic. He told us, Michael came out of Aunt Sarah's belly. Then Dominic rubbed his belly. I fully expected Dominic to say something about having a baby in his belly. Then he started rubbing his chest. "I have Jesus in my heart. Mommy, you have Jesus in your heart. Daddy, you do too."

I was chopping up spinach and Dominic was standing on a chair next to me watching. He kept saying, Mommy, be careful. You'll chop your fingers off. I told him, of course I'm being careful. I have lots of practice and am very careful. He insisted, Mommy, be careful. You'll chop your fingers off! I was having great trouble resisting the urge to laugh at his concern, but I managed to respond by thanking him for his concern, but again, I reiterated, I'm being careful. I know just how to chop vegetables with sharp knives. Mommy can do this. Then he reached out and took my hand (the one without the knife in it) and pulled it away from the spinach. No Mommy. You'll chop your fingers off!

A little feasting

2009-12-28T06:24:00.000-08:00

We had decided to combat all despair and Christmas blues that might try to surface in the midst of our Christmas celebrations from missing everyone and the typical robustness of the holiday. We were hoping that the reverse of the old adage "the more the merrier" was not true, which would leave us a very un-merry party of just two adults and two small children.

About a week before Christmas we made a family trip to the supermarket to pick out our Christmas tree. We decided on a lovely tree of 150 centimeters. We also picked up some expensive Christmas lights (12 euro when not on sale!) and gold and red ball ornaments. Savvy as we are, we got everything during their 50% off sale. We got home and put up the tree, then as soon as we put the Christmas lights on it, Dominic shrieked, "Oooooo!!!" and was very, very excited. It was all worth it. Catie kept alternately standing on her tip-toes trying to grab the ornaments and puffing her cheeks while trying to blow out the Christmas lights. We completed the night by eating some homemade chocolate cookies-- after all, what celebration is complete without food?--and listening to some Christmas music.

We celebrated Christmas Eve in style with smoked salmon, shrimp over linguine in a white wine sauce accompanied by salad and roasted zucchini and carrots. The only hitch was the shrimp still had tails...and shells...and legs! So, we had to spend a little time at Christmas Eve dinner in the messy, somewhat nauseating business of taking the shrimp out of their crustacean wrappers. Then we had homemade apple pie for dessert with a mound of whip cream. And, of course, everything was washed down with white wine. We each opened one present that night. It was nice that Dominic and Cate opened a present from Grandma and Grandpa over Skype. Technology can sure be great! Dominic got a toy camera that flashes and makes various noises, including, "hello" in a Chinese voice. He walked around for about an hour pushing the buttons and telling us to smile and look at him. Cate got a little telephone on wheels, and she loves to hold it to her ear and babble. It was hard to get them to bed after all that excitement, but they finally nodded off and Matt and I were left to clean up the mess from our festivity.

Christmas day we had our traditional "special" breakfast of french toast, or fridge toast, as it has since become, with powdered sugar and cinnamon and sugar on top. Yes, both powdered sugar and white sugar. That's why it's special. A few days ago Dominic was looking into the refrigerator for something to eat and asked me, "Mommy, can I have some fridge toast?" After breakfast, we let the kids open up all their presents. Dominic and Cate were quite the team. Dominic busily opened everybody's presents, and then Catie reveled in ripping the wrapping paper into little shreds all over the apartment. We were showered with love, even from afar. There ended up being plenty of presents under our little tree.

Then we cleaned up and got ready to go to church at St. Anthony's Basilica, the really famous and gorgeous Romanesque-Gothic church here in Padova. We were all bundled and ready to go an hour before church--quite a feat with two little ones--and trundled down to the bus stop two blocks away, only to discover that buses weren't running at all on Christmas day. Oops. Fortunately they were having services almost every hour all day, except during siesta, so we just decided to go later that day, giving ourselves even more time to get there by foot.

So we ate our Christmas meal. We ate it in courses. While this may seem like a rather posh thing to do, it was actually--like most traditions begin--an entirely practical decision. With only 2 burners and a little stove, I could only keep so many things hot at once and keep the lights on. So, we began with an Italian aperitif (a spritz: aperol and prosecco) and a salad. After eating this, we took a little break and I finished getting some things in the oven. Then we had duck consomme (broth) with prosciutto tortellini. Again, we took a little break where Matt danced with the kids to Christmas music, and I finished cooking the rest of the food. Then we reconvened at table for the third course of roasted duck, turkey, and mashed potatoes. I was happy to learn that duck is surprisingly easy to prepare and very tasty. Dominic especially liked the duck. To end the meal, we finished the apple pie and ate too many cookies, just as it should be.

After cleaning up from dinner, we sat around for a little while, then we re-bundled and put the kids in the stroller to make our way to church. About an hour later, about 10 minutes before church started, we arrived at St. Anthony's to find standing room only. We were standing with about 500 other people. The place must have had 2,000 people in it! It was amazing, kind of like being ushered into heaven. The unseen choir regaled us with the Hallelujah chorus (in Italian), and the church looked and smelled just like a heavenly celebration should. To top it all off, Dominic slept through the whole service (a bit sad that he missed it, actually, but nice for us!) and Catie acted as much like a doll as she looked in her Christmas dress.

It turned out to be a pretty lovely Christmas, despite missing everyone so much. I'm just glad we don't have to do it again. We can muster enough strength to make it through one Christmas away, but more would be pretty hard. Thanks for all your prayers and love. Merry Christmas!

Abbiamo il nipote!

2009-12-23T07:22:00.000-08:00

Fresh babe, still pink from mother's womb;
By pain and prayer worked slowly out;
Our Advent child, the coming one,
Was born at last this Friday morn.

Our nephew and godson, Michael Lawrence was born on December 18, 2009. He weighed in at 7 lbs. 7 oz. and was already 21 1/2 inches long! Sarah and Stephen were overcome with joy in welcoming a healthy son into this world after the nine months of expecting and then an unimaginable labor lasting 57 hours. Italy is great, but right now we wish more than anything that we were in South Bend to meet and hold you, Michael. We love you. Happy Birthday.

This year's Advent child has come.
Let us now await the eternal Advent child.

O come, let us adore him.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

2009-12-21T06:22:00.000-08:00

I am awakened at 6 AM, Dominic's new waking hour, by a kiss on the cheek from an overly cheery little boy. "Good morning, Mommy. Can you get up?" Ugh...I guess. I have a little guilt as I admit this to you, but I do not leave the warmth of my bed out of a loving desire to spend time with my chipper toddler; rather, I get up and brave the chilly air to protect his sister, our possessions, and this apartment that we have a security deposit invested in. I follow Dominic to the living room and begin to make myself a cappuccino, feeling very satisfied with myself that I do not allow the milk steaming in a little pitcher to overflow this time. Meanwhile, I pop a croissant into the oven to toast for a few minutes. We settle into a chair and begin reading books together and singing Christmas carols. It's really quite lovely. That is, until the power goes out.

I sigh with exasperation and inwardly curse at myself for forgetting where we are. We are in Italy. Remember? In Italy you can't run 3 electrical appliances at once, even if they are just two little electric burners and a miniature oven. Remember? No, I did not remember. In the haze of the early morning, I forgot all the little quirks and blew the fuse. All right, Dominic, let's go press the button. I don another sweater and carry him, so I don't have to put socks and shoes on him (I have slippers on). We ride the elevator down to floor zero. We walk through the little hallway and stop. Frozen. With shock.

It's snowing!! I thought Padova never got any snow, and it is miraculously snowing. There are already at least 2 inches collected on the ground and large flurries just keep coming down. Dominic, without any prompting started singing in an adorable monotone, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow." It was beautiful. I felt like God looked down on my homesickness and sent me some snow to make it look a lot like Christmas.

We ended up getting about five inches of snow. Later that day, we took the kids out in the snow and had a great time together. Dominic simply could not get enough of the snow and didn't want to come in even when his hands were purple, and he'd gotten a snowball in the face (thanks, Daddy). Cate just looked like a purple marshmallow that got stuck in snow.

I had to laugh at the Italians who clearly never have snow. At six o'clock that night nothing had been plowed, or shoveled, for that matter. I saw someone across the street scooping snow off her balcony with a dustpan. Cars were trying to drive and brake with their characteristic speed and were just peeling out on every corner. People were still trying to bike through the snow, usually giving up and ending up trudging through the un-shoveled sidewalk while walking their bike. The next day, most roads were still not plowed. I did see a tractor--a real farm tractor--on one road, though, sprinkling what I assume was salt, from a seeder. My favorite thing, however, was all the Italians I saw walking around holding their large, pointy umbrellas to prevent the snowflakes from fluttering down on them.

Italian Pierogi

2009-12-17T12:07:00.000-08:00

I am keenly aware that pierogi are Polish. But I think in our attempt to recreate our Polish Christmas tradition here on the boot peninsula, the pierogi was besmirched by Italian karma. My mother-in-law once told me my motto should be "Have Tradition, Will Travel." I guess that comes with it's own risks.

We were determined to be in solidarity with all our family who were scattered about the United States making pierogi as well. Normally we make hundreds of them together a few weeks before Christmas and then gorge ourselves with pierogi drenched in butter on Christmas Eve. You can read about last year's pierogi experience here. So we did our best to gather the necessary ingredients to make our favorite of the three kinds: cabbage pierogi. For anyone who's been following our time in Italy, you know how difficult it was to find the right components for Thanksgiving. Making a polish food turned out to be no different. Cabbage pierogi are filled with cabbage and pot cheese. Cabbage was no problem. Pot cheese or farmer's cheese, as it's also called, cannot be found in Italy, unless perhaps, you have some sort of inside track with the cheese shop and know enough Italian to make use of this connection. So we decided that well-strained ricotta cheese would have to do. I chopped and boiled the cabbage two days before pierogi day. Then I strained it several times and added the sauteed onions. On pierogi day we added the ricotta cheese minus the one cup of liquid that came out of the two pounds, or should I say the 200 ml that came out of the 800 grams. Tasting it, it seemed to have the right cabbagey taste. It was just quite a bit creamier than normal. Italian pierogi.

The dough wasn't really too bad to make, except that I have no US measuring cups, so I was stuck guesstimating how much looked like 4 cups or 2 tablespoons. I judged the measurements all right, I guess, because everything turned out okay, although the dough was little less stretchy and far more orange than normal. Have I ever mentioned Italian eggs? For some reason at least half of them have yolks that are cadmium orange (almost neon!). You can see this in the little YouTube video of our pierogi dough. I rolled the orange dough out on our little counter with an empty Cabernet bottle, which also seems so very appropriate. I'm not sure where Italians buy rolling pins, apparently not at the supermarket. After rolling out the dough, I used our widest drinking glass to cut the circles out. These were then transferred to the table for the pinchers.

And so, everything was thus set-up when our pinchers arrived. We had invited Andreas and Astrid, our Danish neighbors to partake in the pieorgi with us, informing them that eating them meant making them. Being exceptionally tradition-loving and also up for anything, they were happy to join us. So they came over, wheeling their son, Vilhelm, who was sleeping in his carriage, onto our terrace for his afternoon nap in the fresh air while we worked and visited inside. They caught on very fast and, together with Matt, they all made excellent pinchers. We only broke one out of the entire batch of 70!

While they pinched, I melted a pot of butter, boiled the pierogi, rinsed them in cold water, and packed them in layers surrounded by butter and divided by cellophane. It sounds complicated, but since we were going fairly slowly, it wasn't too hard to keep up. It was also an advantage that the burners are about 5 feet from the table, 1 foot from the sink, and 1/2 foot from the counter-top where I was packing them. At least close proximity does have some benefits.

We finished the pierogi in about an hour and a half, just in time, because all the kids woke up within ten minutes of our finishing. We cleaned up the kitchen and readied ourselves for our Polish feast.

Frying up the first batch, we began consuming our butter-laden cabbage-and-ricotta-stuffed pasta (here I don't mean spaghetti or something, I just mean dough, which they also call "pasta"). Mangiamo!

Delicious. A little creamy and a little yellow-looking, but delicious. A taste of home (or of Poland) in this far away land of Italy.

Life is short, but the memory is long

2009-12-13T11:26:00.000-08:00

We went to Disney World in May 2009. In case you've lost track, it's now December 2009, 7 months later. Grandma and Grandpa were thrilled to be taking Dominic and Cate on their first-ever trip to Disney World and witness their joy at having lunch with Winnie the Pooh, riding on Dumbo, and seeing fireworks shoot off Cinderella's castle. While Matt and I were excited, we were also a little skeptical about how much they would remember from the trip. In any case, it would be fun while we were there, for sure. And indeed, they had a superb time, regardless of how long the memories would last.

A few days ago, however, Dominic through me for a loop. I opened up the December issue of Real Simple, which my dear friend so kindly mailed from the US to Italy as a surprise, and found an insert about Disney World. I guess they have a promo right now that if you volunteer for one day at an approved organization, you can get one day's free admission. Not a bad deal! Anyway, Dominic wanted to see what I was looking at, so I showed him the picture of the castle. "Do you know what this is?" He responds, "Yeah. It's Mickey's castle. Remember? Dreams come True!"

Wow. He really did remember a lot from that trip. Not only did he remember the castle and who he saw there (he also talks about Cinderella, Peter Pan, and Snow White dancing), he remembers what they told him to say. All together now, "Dreams come True!" As corny as it seemed to me, it seems like it truly was a magical moment for Dominic. He still remembers it 7 months later after we certainly had not talked about it once. Wow. I guess it's encouraging to know that all the experiences we're having and the memories we're making here in Italy are not for naught.

Girly Girl

2009-12-12T08:01:00.000-08:00

The fairy godmother ("Auntie" Allison) brought the precious doggies! A new pink one and a new blue one to have as a spare, plus a baby pink rattle doggy (which is now affectionately known as Baby Pinkie) arrived in grand style, wrapped and everything. The kids were so excited to unwrap their presents and even more excited by the new doggies.

Since Cate has become rather attached to the blue doggy, I thought she might reject Pinkie. All the doggies were sitting together on the coffee table, and she totally passed over the blue doggy, going straight for the pink doggies, holding them to her heart with a big smile. While we were thinking this might just be excitement over the new doggies, as if to prove us wrong, she picked up the blue doggy, toddled over to Dominic, and gave him the blue one. She apparently thinks pink is for girls. :)

She also received a dress--also pink--in the mail for her birthday. When we opened it, she picked it up, and immediately tried to put it over her head, over her pants. When she didn't succeed, she just held the pink dress around her neck and proudly strutted around.

She also regularly tries to put on her dress shoes and when she fails, she brings them to me pointing to her feet. It's funny. I only dress her up on Sundays and she usually wears pink tennis shoes, but she just has this natural intuition that these shiny, black mary janes are pretty. She also knows that she wants them on instead of her regular play shoes. I think we have a lot of dress up and shopping in our future... After I put them on, she models them all around the house, showing them off to everyone, and running into things because she can't take her eyes off her pretty shoes.

December Pictures!

2009-12-10T06:47:00.000-08:00

Here are some pictures of our latest adventures in Padova. Actually, most of them are just the kids doing their thing around the house. We did make a little trip to Vicenza, though. The Christmas lights there were really spectacular, and it was extra special for Dominic because we were in the main piazza when all the lights turned on. It was fun to hear the entire city "ooh" at the same time.

We made an advent wreath from a yogurt container, wrapping paper, ribbon, and some taper candles. I would have preferred a more traditional wreath, but Italians don't seem to have them for sale anywhere. It'll do. Dominic gets very, very excited to light the candles each Sunday, and even Cate will stand in front of it and stare (when it's lit) and then stand in front of it pretending to blow the candles out (even when it's not lit). The Advent calendar is also a huge hit at our house, although I don't think Dominic has any idea that a box corresponds to a day. We open one in the morning after breakfast, and then later during the day he'll inevitably ask, "Can I open another one? Just one..." as he holds up his index finger and squints his eyes at me. St. Nicholas made an appearance at our house on December 6 filling the shoes of all four. Dominic could hardly sleep he was so excited the night before. We then celebrated the Sunday by having a special brunch of french toast with cinnamon and sugar on top. French toast may be Dominic's and Cate's favorite food right now.
During the last song at church Dominic said to Matt, "Just one more song. And then we get french toast!"

When the Tide Rolls In: Venice

2009-12-09T05:55:00.000-08:00

Matt was in Venice again to do still more research at la Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana. (I just love it, here we have a quintessential example of Italy's adjectival usage. La Marciana is a National Library. Read carefully. The Marciana is one of at least five national libraries in Italy: Rome, Florence, Milan, Torino, Venice, and maybe a few others.) He went to Venice on a sunny day, clear blue skies all around. What he saw, however, shocked him beyond belief. Piazza San Marco was entirely flooded, and the whole city was 1-1/2 feet deep in water. The raised sidewalks, a series of planks that look like park benches are lined up end to end, were all up. I guess the tide had rolled in; apparently, it was that time of the month. (I think that's how tides work, anyway).

But it was business as usual for the Venetians. Despite have water around their calves in their shops, they were conducting trade and serving their clients without a hitch. They all had high rubber boots on and some had one or two employees hauling bucket after bucket of water out of the store. Matt saw a gelateria (ice cream store) taking orders and serving up cones from the ground, surrounded by water, to people leaning down from the raised sidewalks. I can only imagine all the Venetians that must have been loitering on these two-feet wide planks with their little porcelain cups of caffe, reaching down to return a cup and to place a euro in the the hand of a rubber-booted barrista.

Our Son, the Heretic

2009-12-08T07:12:00.000-08:00

While saying Dominic's prayers with him last night, I discovered that he is in grave theological error. We said the usual "Our Father" and then I reminded him to think about what Jesus did for us: remember, he was born as a baby at Christmas, he grew up and did miracles, he died on the cross, and then he rose again. With his typical enthusiasm, he stood up and shouted, "He died!" But then he perplexed me. He laid down on the ground and began rolling back and forth. My perplexity was soon relieved, as he shouted, "And he rolled again!"

Clash of Cultures

2009-12-02T04:07:00.000-08:00

We witnessed first hand a most beautiful clash of cultures. This time it was the Italian culture and the Danish culture. I know I have already written of the Italian wariness of temperatures, which causes them to bundle children until they resemble marshmallows and to refrain from taking them out in any sort of inclement weather, such as a 60-degree day or slight sprinkles from a sunny sky. Well, it turns out that Danes believe with equal tenacity that fresh air strengthens children and is necessary for their development. All children take at least one nap outside each day, sleeping in their very plush and oversized "strollers," which are really just small beds on wheels. The exception is if the weather is minus 10 degrees Celsius or lower (14 degrees Fahrenheit), then they concede that the weather might harm even their hearty Nordic children. Our neighbors, being Danish to the core, take their son for a walk everyday, during which he falls asleep, and then they bring him back to the apartment and push him out on the terrace where he will sleep for two or three hours.

We went to their house for Vilhelm's second birthday party, and he was still sleeping peacefully on the terrace, although you could not see much of him under his down comforter. The other guests began to arrive as well, including their Italian friend, Marco. Marco is probably thirty and is neither married nor has children. We saw Vilhelm outside and, knowing their custom, laughed and asked when would Vilhelm wake up. Marco, upon seeing the stroller outside with poor Vilhelm in it, exclaimed, "But it's cold outside! He'll catch a cold! Do you always do this?" When they told him yes, he does this every day, unless it is below -10 degrees, Maro just shook his head in shock. It was beautiful to behold.

A Picnic

2009-12-02T04:01:00.000-08:00

I'm wrapping sandwiches in aluminum foil when Dominic comes into the kitchen. He sees me and I prepare myself for his never-ending question: "Watcha doin' Mommy?"

Instead, he asks, "You making sandwiches, Mommy?"

"Yes, Dominic."

"For a picnic?"

"Yes, Dominic."

As I was wondering how he remembered what a picnic was, he also added "I love picnics."

"Really, why?"

"We go someplace. And we eat food. Outside."

Giorno del Ringraziamento a.k.a. Thanksgiving

2009-11-28T06:05:00.001-08:00

Preparations were most difficult for this beloved American holiday. Italy just isn't made for this sort of country-wide gluttonous feast devoted to the red-wattled gobbler. Thank God for the Native Americans and all their delicious foods that helped the Pilgrims through the harsh winters of the New World.

Fearing to be alone on such a communal feast, we invited our Danish neighbors, with whom we have become quite good friends, to share our Thanksgiving. They were quite excited to be able to come and see a real American Thanksgiving, so we felt that we needed to put together a decent spread. This, of course, required turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, ample gravy, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, bread, and pumpkin pie, at the very minimum. Having only decided 4 days before Thanksgiving that we would be hosting the feast (we were hoping for an invite...but it never came, so we resolved to have our own), I set out looking for the proper ingredients.

But to no avail. The Italians just thought I was crazy. You want a what? A whole turkey? No, no, no; we don't have those. I had resolved that if I couldn't find a whole turkey, which was a very real possibility because I had not ordered one from a butcher several weeks in advance, I would just have to settle for turkey breasts or simply substitute a whole chicken. In the name of authenticity, especially for the sake of our Danish invitees, I opted for turkey, in whatever form I might find it. After trying four stores, I finally found a very, very large turkey breast and equally enormous legs. The turkey they came from must have been an inimitable foul. Mashed potatoes were no trouble except that we had no masher, so I sent Matt out for a handheld blender at the last minute. It worked a little too well, and they ended up being very pureed, kind of like Outback's mashed potatoes. Fortunately stuffing turned out to be a cinch, even though I'd never made it before and couldn't find poultry seasoning anywhere. I had scoured the internet for a recipe that was fairly simple and had a limited number of ingredients, finally deciding on chestnut stuffing. As for green bean casserole. . . well, cream of mushroom soup and French's french friend onions. Rather than trying to make some horrible concoction of substitutes, I simplified it to garlic string beans. At least it's a vegetable, right?

The pie was quite an affair. It certainly would have been easier to do without. But really, can you? I think that second to the turkey, pumpkin pie is most essential. I searched high and low for pureed pumpkin. (I'm beginning to think that Italians have some sort of superstition about the evils of canned food. Maybe it's the temperature change that the vegetables must go through the be put in the can. Other than tomatoes, hardly anything can be found in a can here, and certainly not pumpkin.) Okay, fine. I'll make my own pumpkin puree. Let's see just how Martha-esque I can be out of necessity. I spy the zucca. Now, how much does one need? Which kind? Lost in puzzlement over the three types: two squash looking ones and a more traditional shaped pumpkin, although very white, I call Matt on the phone to see if Google can answer my question. I guess the man next to me understood enough English to eavesdrop, though, because he began to tell me in Italian which pumpkin was best. Being a bit confused, I ask, "For cake?" (Because there's no Italian word for pie.) "Si, si, si," he responds, without seeming even a little ashamed that he heard my conversation. "And the price is better. Get this one." And then he walks away. Very mysterious. So I bought two of the kind he recommended. Whipped cream is also not to be found so I bought a carton of cream. Our Danish friends had told me that you can make whipped cream by shaking heavy cream in a ziploc bag with a coin in it. Brown sugar also does not exist in Italy, so I hoped white sugar will be okay. I stuffed my backpack with turkey, pumpkins, cream, and various spices, hopped on the bus and hauled all my groceries home, ready to begin the big preparations for Thanksgiving.

In short, cooking the food was much easier than finding it. I brined the turkey in a honey-lemon marinade, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that it only took up half of our refrigerator. Then I began on the pie. Per internet directions, I had cut the pumpkins in half and placed them fleshy side down on a buttered baking sheet. I had just put them in the oven when my Indian neighbor stopped by with her little boy. Inviting them in, I explained to her that I was just about to make a pumpkin pie for our Thanksgiving holiday. Since she likes to cook quite a bit herself, she asked if she could watch. Of course, I say. It also dawns on me that she has a little food processor which would solve my problem of how to puree the pumpkin. So we made pie together. Scoop the baked pumpkin out. Strain it--with a t-shirt--several times. Puree it. Continue as normal. Other than being very messy and a bit flat looking (we only had a ten inch metal cake pan), everything turned out perfectly. I ended up with about 3 cups of pumpkin puree left after making the pie, however, so I decided I may as well whip together some pumpkin soup for the occasion. Pumpkin soup really is easy and delicious. Cream and pumpkin and some spice.

Everything else really turned out quite well, although while I was taking the turkey out of the oven my racks began to break and one side of the oven collapsed inward. Rather than panic, however, I took it over to our neighbors and let it cook with the stuffing that was already baking in their oven. The whipped cream also gave me a little trouble. When Andreas, Astrid, and Vilhelm came over, I was in the middle of desperately trying to shake this cream in the ziploc bag with the euro in it into something more solid. Was a euro too much? Should it have been twenty cents instead? Astrid just told me to blow more air in the bag. Oh. Then Andreas offered to take over the shaking. I was only too happy to delegate. Apparently you need to shake hard and fast. We ended up with cream in just a few minutes.

We had borrowed their table and set up a lovely spread in our little apartment. Although, to be honest, I was surprised at how little a Thanksgiving for 4 looked when we set it on a big table. It didn't matter; we set in to our feasting with great delight. I explained what all the foods were and apologized that cranberry sauce was missing. I had scoured the stores for it and could not find cranberries anywhere. They also asked about this Thanksgiving tradition of ours, and we got to tell them about the Pilgrims and their odd outfits, how they were dying of hunger and were given food tips from the Indians on how to survive these dreadful winters. We also told them about how it wasn't made an official holiday until after the Civil War. "Civil War?" they ask, looking confused. "Who fought in the Civil War?" So then we had a little diversion on the history on the enmity of the north and the south, and how Abraham Lincoln reinstated a national day of Thanksgiving for the abundant crops that were still signs of God's mercy. At Thanksgiving we still celebrate our unity and the assistance of the Native Americans. We also give thanks for all our blessings by having a long holiday and eating enormous amounts of food at noontime with dear family. Then we lounge around and watch football or It's a Wonderful Life, we visit, we nap, and then we eat lots of leftovers as soon as we feel you can eat again.

It was really hard to communicate just how lovely Thanksgiving is. We gave thanks for all our family and friends who could not share our skinless turkey breast and flat pumpkin pie with us. We drank many glasses of fine wine for you on this our Italian Thanksgiving.

New Blog Features

2009-11-28T03:27:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to let you all know that I installed a YouTube video bar on the left side of the blog. It is directly linked to my YouTube channel and will automatically update with little images of the latest videos, so you can see whether you've seen them. Also, if they happen to have thumbnails of the fight against poverty, African children, or something else, just wait a minute and they should switch to pictures of people you recognize. If you click on it, they will load and you can watch each video. I uploaded four new videos yesterday from November. Enjoy!

Italy Thankfuls

2009-11-26T04:55:00.000-08:00

Making my list of things I am thankful for in Italy, I realized that at least 1/3 of them were types of food. While the administration and efficiency over here are, well, "lacking," the food over here is superb. I am thankful for pasta in all its shapes and sizes, for the multitude of sauces in which one can deliciously smother their noodles. I am thankful for pizza with wine and then gelato for dessert. We have never had a bad meal in Italy. Never. Ever. Let's give thanks to the God who made Italian food. ;) Other things I'm thankful for are:

The abundance of fresh, seasonal fruit. (Although I am worried about what winter, when nothing is in season, will be like.) We have eaten 8 or 10 kilograms (22 pounds) of the delicious, seedless Clementine oranges this month!
Matt and his dedication to us and his diligent work going day after day to different archives and persevering in reading Latin and Italian books and manuscripts. Also, Let's get this straight. This list is not in order of importance.
The kids. See above comment. Plus, what would I do all day without them?
Beautiful Italian architecture. Does it elevate my soul just to live here? Perhaps. Petrarch, Dante, and Livy are from here after all.
Beautiful art, everywhere.
Being forced to develop our own traditions: chestnut stuffing, Settlers of Catan in Italian, new routins, etc.
Skype and cheap phone cards. A few conveniences that make the distance seem smaller.
Our Danish neighbors. They are fun and interesting and keep us from getting too lonely. They also have a two-year-old boy, Vilhelm, who Dominic loves to play with.
Our little apartment. I'm thankful that we got an apartment, that it is fairly inexpensive, that it is clean, that we have an elevator, that we have a nice view, and that we have heat.
A chance to see wonderful Italy. This really is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. "White collar poverty" certainly does have its perks.
The opportunity and ability to learn Italian. It really is a beautiful language.
Wine. Good. Cheap. Abundant.
Funny things the kids say and do. I'll indulge you in a few recent examples:

Just a minute ago, Dominic was buck-naked running off to go to the bathroom and shouting back to his sister, "I'll be back Cate!"
Because Dominic was not sitting in his usual chair at the dinner table, I said, "You need to move, this is where Daddy sits." He responds, "Yeah, that's Daddy's Happy Birthday Chair." That's a valid reason for a two-year-old. I love it.
Cate has started bringing me everything. She will pick up any toys/papers/bits on the floor and hand them to me one at a time, even if I'm across the room. The best part is the uber-proud look on her face every single time she hands me something. Then she claps for herself. :)
Dominic has begun quizzing Cate, just like an adult. He points to me and says to her, "And who's that, Catie?"

Things I miss Most About Home

2009-11-25T10:05:00.000-08:00

This is sort of a pre-Thanksgiving post. While it could be considered to be a list of gripes about Italy, more important, it's a list of things I'm thankful for in the United States. As I was composing my list, I realized that most of them are matters of efficiency. Apparently, that's pretty important to me. I guess that's not surprising being an American and growing up with the 'Protestant' work-ethic. So, here's my list of American 'thankfuls'. I think tomorrow I'll do a list of my 'thankfuls' for Italy.

Family
Good friends with longstanding history
Knowing how everything works and where to find stuff
Whole turkeys at Thanksgiving
Cranberry sauce (cranberries are impossible to find)
Unlimited and free water at restaurants, ice
Second-hand stores, especially for kids clothes
4-burner stove (we only have two)
Unlimited energy (we can only run either the burners or one burner and the "oven" or the power blows)
Fast internet and wireless(we have a single ethernet cord, and the internet powered by crippled hamsters)
Stocking up at supermarkets (going to the grocery store everyday was quaint at first, now it's a little archaic)
Being able to hop in the car and drive from point A to point B (not having to walk to a bus station, take the bus, take the train, take another bus, and then walk some more, especially with the kids)
Target (everything affordable, easy to find, and all in one building!)
The freezer (other Italians do have these)
Free shipping on Amazon.com
My sharp butcher knife and sharpener
Living space and multiple bedrooms

Matt is Now 27

2009-11-22T14:23:00.000-08:00

I hope you have all gasped at the fact my title has revealed. Some will gasp because Matthew Gaetano is already 27, well on his way to 30, over half-way to 50, and 1/4 of the way to 100. How fast it went. He's so old! How can this be?

Quite naturally, others will gasp because he is only 27. He is nearing the completion of his Ph.D., is married, and has two children. I remember when he was born. I remember his piano recitals. I remember him skipping around the house. How can this be?

So, thanks to Matt's wonderful Aunt Pat, this is a little blast into my dear husband's past.

Florence Revisited: Part I

2009-11-20T00:16:00.000-08:00

I felt that I skimped too much on my descriptions of the individual cities we saw with my parents. So, in between other posts about current events, I'm going to do a series on Florence, Rome, Verona, and Padua.

If I had to characterize Florence--or Firenze (fee-Ren-zay) as it's called in Italian--in just one way it would be the 'City of Art'. Besides having two of the most famous museums in the world, every church is overflowing with resplendent art, piazzas contain gorgeous monuments, and even the streets themselves are extraordinary works of art. My dad, who is very skilled in the various construction crafts, just could not stop marveling over the intricate stonework of arched cobblestone patterns that was painstakingly laid on every street and sidewalk.

We set out to conquer Florence's major sites in just three days, but we were adamant that we would not sacrifice quality for quantity. The Uffizi was magnificent, although overwhelming in size. Room upon room in a u-shaped building of three stories, we took in Giotto, Leonardo da Vinci, Titian, Raphael, Michaelangelo, and Boticelli. It was a stronghold of amazing artwork. Besides the famous paintings, which were obviously delightful to behold, I think my favorite was the unfinished painting by Leonardo da Vinci. I was able to see a master's painting in progress. It was like standing in a piazza, glancing over da Vinci's shoulder, and watching him make a portrait come increasingly more to life, layer by layer of successively richer shades of oil paint and . The Accademia was much smaller and manageable and housed Michaelangelo's famed David. I was astonished at just how tall he was. Not only larger than life, but so large he filled a two-story room, it seemed. I must admit, I felt a little sheepish sitting on the benches behind the statue and staring at his "buns of marble." Look away, look away. Well, to be honest...it was actually his lower calves that were at eye level.

Despite being an artist myself and truly loving art, I am always astounded at how exhausting art museums can be. I feel like, from the moment I set foot in an art museum, I begin to wilt. It's like Matt in any store. Does anyone else feel this? From the looks on everyone else's faces, I conjecture that I'm not alone. Perhaps I have thirty good minutes before my feet begin to drag. I console myself by saying it's just too much art all at once, and it's hard to fully appreciate art out of its original context. I still feel that I need to look at every painting and read every description, even though I can feel my blood sugar plummeting and my attention shortening. After all, they're good enough to be in the Uffizi and the Accademia, the hallowed halls of Florentine Fame! (Not to mention that because of my pecuniary heritage I feel even more compulsion to really do an expensive site right and see everything.)

My perspective on art museums and sight-seeing is beginning to change. I was talking a friend of mine, an Art History Ph.D., and I asked her how she feels when seeing museums. She told me that she enjoys the art immensely but finds museums very physically and emotionally taxing. She also confessed that finds her tolerance has actually gone down with every year of education! She just blows through museums now because she knows which paintings/sculptures actually deserve attention and she doesn't bother with the descriptions. Perhaps rather than trying to get an art education by going to museums and galleries, I shall delight my fancy more. Just truly enjoying a few masterpieces should be enough for me to warrant the expense and effort, and it won't leave me wilted and weary at the end. So it is my resolve, with the blessing of an expert, to stop trying to see everything.

My New Secret...

2009-11-19T06:09:00.000-08:00

No, I'm not pregnant. Don't worry when the day comes, I won't announce it on the blog first. Blogs are good for some things, like sharing funny stories, cute videos, and potentially insightful or at least tolerable posts, but not for such personal and life-changing news as that. I do still know the value of real interaction.

That being said, I do have a new, somewhat shameful, secret: 'little Shuffy' (my ipod Shuffle). My brothers gave it to me last year for my birthday, and I used it for both entertainment and motivation. While I was pregnant with Cate, it was especially difficult to motivate myself to clean. So, I would download the FlyLady podcasts and just listening to them would inspire me to do as she instructed. Shine your sink! It will inspire you to keep going. Work 15 minutes at a time, then rest. Tackle those "hot spots" each night and they won't become "4-star alarms." And follow my daily "mission" to systematically go through the house and de-clutter. Little Shuffy got me through the sloth of pregnancy.

After moving to York, I primarily used it for my workouts at the 'Y'. I would download a podcast from BBC and a podcast workout from Podrunner with 140-150 beats per minute. After updating myself on the state of the world from the perspective of the Brits, which usually coincided nicely with the workout becoming unbearable, Podrunner was there to save me. I coped by just ceasing to think. I became merely a beat, leg circle after leg circle (I was usually on the elliptical). The mantra was: just keep up, don't think, just keep going, don't think, just do it..

I loaded Little Shuffy with podcasts and music to entertain myself on the flight to Italy, should the children perchance fall asleep, leaving me awake, and desperate for distraction. Unlikely as it was, it actually happened. Little Shuffy to the rescue again.

Up until now Shuffy has been there to help me, to hold me up when I simply couldn't do it anymore. When I tired of putting the toys away, sweeping the floor, and doing dishes for the umpteenth time here in Italy, I remembered my trusty ipod. I loaded that baby up with music and podcasts on grammar, news, finances, Italian, and prayers. Since then, doing dishes has become a blissful escape. Not only do I learn something and take my mind off the tedious work I'm doing, I successfully tune out children shrieking (I can still hear them, don't worry, they're just less...loud). I used to dread the thirty-five minute walk home from my Italian class. It was dark, cold, and I was bored. Now, thanks to Little Shuffy, I actually look forward to my walk home. It's a chance to stretch my legs and learn something new. Last Monday, I actually walked a few extra blocks just to hear the end of the podcast!

When Matt offered to trade me dinner dishes for getting the kids ready for bed, I jumped at the opportunity. He had no idea how much this pleased me. While he wrestled with kids, changed diapers, read stories, and cajoled them into bed, I got to stand there, tune the chaos out, and listen to something. I can't believe I'm letting my dirty little secret out of the bag.

Well, I think he was on to me, anyway. The offer of a trade didn't last very long.

That's how he swings

2009-11-18T10:01:00.000-08:00

Brainwashing at Breakfast

2009-11-17T00:18:00.000-08:00

Still flush with excitement over the recent discovery of "water"--it is apparently neither liquid, gas, nor frozen--on the Moon, Matt tries to brainwash our son at breakfast.

"So, Dominic, do you want to build a space ship?"
"Yeah," staring at his granola.
"Are you going to be an aeronautical engineer or astrophysicist when you grow up?"
"Yeah," he doesn't bat an eye.
"Dominic, do you want to fly to the moon with Daddy? It'll be awesome. It's the moon...in the sky!" Daddy clearly displays far more enthusiasm than his son.
"Okay!" After sixty seconds of convincing, he's finally sold. "We gotta get to work." Mr. Boss takes charge.
Adding my two cents, I chime in, "But you'll be far from Mommy."

Then the next day.
"So, you still ready to go to the moon?" Daddy prompts to see if his brainwashing has worked.
"Yeah. We'll go far to Mommy."

Four Star Alarm!!!

2009-11-12T05:00:00.000-08:00

Alert: We have lost a ragged pink doggy and an even more ragged blue doggy. These are precious items and a reward will be offered for finding them.

I don't know where, I don't know how. But it's a problem, that I know.

I can no longer put the kids to bed at the same time for naps or bedtime! I must resort to waiting until one falls sufficiently asleep, clutching the sole remaining doggy (blue) or cushioning their head with its shapeless comfort, before I sneak in and pluck it out of their arms so that I can give it to the other child so that they can fall asleep with the precious--and indispensable--doggy.

We tried buying Cate a replacement stuffed animal. It's a plucky yellow ducky that is quite squishy. She likes it okay and will even sleep with it if she's in a happy mood, but if it's been a rough day and she really needs comfort, she goes right for Dominic's doggy. It's hard to defend it as Dominic's personal property when Cate lost her identical (though pink) doggy. What am I to do?

(It's Baby Gund "Spunky" #58377 if anyone ever sees one...)

Buying Furniture for Children's Minds

2009-11-12T02:24:00.000-08:00

As I read the twenty or so children's books we have here in Padova, I am struck by the importance they have in the education of my children. At two and half, Dominic can already memorize large portions of stories. Every night he recites the story of Baby Moses/Adult Moses while we flip the pages in his little Toddler Bible. He anticipates the action and can name everything in the pictures. He understands humor and likes rhyme. I am often surprised by the books that become his favorites. They often seem more complicated than I think he should be able to enjoy. Currently, The Saggy Baggy Elephant is at the top of his list.

Stories teach children right and wrong. They should make them love good heroes and despise villains, praising virtue and condemning vice. It is moral training on the most basic level. Now, I don't think there's anything wrong with reading a-moral stories. Silly Stories with Bert and Ernie is just that, silly. It may not develop their noble sensibilities, but it does foster a love of reading. I tend to think that this "lighter" reading is just fine, so long as the greater portion of their literature is more substantive. I certainly have a long way to go before having any sort of comprehensive view of children's lit. Thankfully, my future contains thousands more readings of children's books during which I will have the time to ponder these questions (at least between the kids questions of "Mommy, can you count them?" "What's that?" "What's he eating that for?" etc).

Anyway, I was wondering, what are everyone's favorite books from their childhood? Which books are so important or wonderful that you think my children will be deprived if they do not read them?

Dominic Funnies

2009-11-08T23:50:00.000-08:00

I've been collecting some of the funny things that Dominic has said lately. Here's a little recap of them.

Apparently, he's been assimilating the word "awesome" into his vocabulary:

He is about to climb a rock in front of the Colosseum and tells me, "It'll be awesome, Mommy."
Same day: "Are you awesome, Mommy?"
Then curious if he'll respond, I ask him, "Dominic, are you awesome?"
"Yeah...I'm awesome."
Same day: "Grandpa, are you awesome?" Grandpa, "Not so much, no. Only God is awesome."

"Can you 'finger out' the tv?"

While smooshing a pillow with all the intensity he can muster, he tells us through gritted teeth, "I wanna break it".

"Mi scusi," he casually says to me, as he tries to open a cupboard.

In an extremely adult way, he says to Daddy, "Let's see what's on here(tv)."

Peering into his pull-up he declares, "There's a lot of money in there!" (I gather that this is because I had explained that they were expensive and cost a lot of money...so he should use the potty...).

"Daddy, you gotta shave."

His most famous declaration of two-year-old will: "I want to not!".

"I gotta catch a bus" - when we were waiting for Matt so we could get on a bus.

"I give it for Catey. She loves me." - Dominic took cookies off the counter. He took one for himself and one for her.

Cate folded her hands at dinner, during the prayer. Dominic looks at her and announces, "Cate prayed a little bit. Yay!" And then he claps for her.

Dominic sneezed a hearty sneeze, leaving little droplets on the floor. He tells me, "There's God-bless-yous there on the floor."

In the middle of the night he somewhat anxiously said, "I gotta find grandma. I gotta find her."

I told Dominic he couldn't have any more juice. A few hours later he's playing with the broken phone in our apartment and starts talking into it. "Grandma," he says, "Can you bring me some juice?...And kalua (granola)?" Then he put in another call to Uncle Stephen. "Unco? Can you bring me some juice?"

When we were talking about my parents coming to Italy, I told Dominic that Grandpa was coming on the airplane in a few days. Dominic says, excitedly, "Grandpa is coming. He's bringing his mower to me."

1st Birthday

2009-11-08T14:33:00.001-08:00

A few days before Cate's birthday. I thought you might enjoy seeing a picture from Dominic on his first birthday. They definitely did not get the same gene package. :) I wish we could have had a big bash for Cate's birthday, too. We miss you all.

Address for Packages

2009-11-08T14:28:00.000-08:00

We finally got to the bottom of the package mystery. Packages are best sent to the below address rather than our usual address (Residenza Galilei, Via A. Magarotto, 16, 35136 Padova, PD, Italy). It's the other apartment building that has a porter who answers when mailmen buzz...

Amy Gaetano
Residenza G. Galilei
Via Tartaglia, 9
35136 Padova, PD
Italy

Recap!

2009-11-05T12:54:00.001-08:00

Aren't pictures worth a thousand words? Well, I'm going to save you the trouble of reading 75,000 words and have selected the best twenty percent for you to view at your leisure. Lots of things we weren't allowed to take pictures of, so, quite naturally, there are not very many pictures of some of the spectacular things we saw. Let's just say, it was a wonderful couple of weeks with Grandma and Grandpa!

Florence was crowded, rainy, and charming in its artsy way. We enjoyed a very central location and took in the local culture by eating at a late hour without the kids (we went as couples, taking turns watching the kids). The art museums were spectacular, but exhausting, as museums are wont to be.

Rome was, well, really old. It was sweet to see the ruins and imagine a thriving city there at one time, but honestly, Turkey has better ruins. Imagine that, better ruins. :) In Turkey they let you climb all over the ruins and really get close. But Turkey doesn't have the Colosseum or The Arch of Constantine. I really enjoyed seeing in person all of the things that hitherto have only been a page in an art history textbook. The process of getting to the Sistine Chapel was way more complicated than I ever dreamed it could be! We waited in line for 2 hours (our fault for not having reservations...but, as a plus, we went on a free day and saved a lot of money), then we were led through what felt like miles of anterooms gloriously decorated with frescoes, paintings, gold, carvings, etc. before we ever got to the Sistine Chapel. Once we finally got to Michaelangelo's masterpiece, you would have thought that we wouldn't have much art appreciation left in us. The man clapping his hands and bellowing out "SI-lence!" to the hoards below didn't help with that problem. Despite the downsides, however, it was still amazing. I have no idea how anyone, or even a group of people, could paint something so masterful and so beautiful. Extraordinary. St. Peter's Basilica blew my mind. It literally brought tears to my eyes. I love that it is still functioning as a church and not a museum or merely a destination for visitors. It was very prayerful and reverent as well as overwhelmingly beautiful and glorious.

The Colli Hills, about 40 minutes from us, are really quite lovely. It was nice to be out in nature and away from people after so many crowds, lines, and bustle. We enjoyed our hike to the top. Matt was such a trooper hauling Dominic up there in a baby backpack. Grandpa carried Cate in the other backpack and was a tropper too (she's just not quite as heavy). We saw some really gnarly vineyards, olive trees, and a persimmon tree. As a side note, we do not recommend not-quite-ripe persimmons. Psch, eckk, yuck! They taste like chalk and give you the worst cotton mouth you've ever had.

Verona was a charming city. It was a quaint little place full of its own wonders. The entire city is built upon Roman ruins. It has great shops, restaurants, and fun places to see. It was a joy just to wander around.

Lastly, we went to Venice. I know I've already posted about Venice, so I'll keep it brief. We went after a rainy day. The city had a slightly sewagey smell. But despite that, it was still a very endearing city. Because of the ill weather, we were able to walk right into St. Mark's Basilica without waiting at all. That was a miracle. It was a gold, Byzantine wonder. There are mosaics everywhere! According to Rick Steve's, who knows all, of course, the ceiling is as large as a football field and to do the mosaics would be like paving a football field with contacts (but of different shapes, etc!). We also took a boat ride to Murano island and saw a very brief demonstration on glass-blowing. I wish it had been longer because it was really fascinating. Mom and I gave in and bought necklaces with Murano glass beads. They're pretty cool, I must say.

At home, in Padova, we had a little (early) birthday celebration for Cate with a chocolate torte. She sure enjoyed that! It was wonderful to have Grandma and Grandpa here to celebrate it with us.

We had a fantastic time and wore ourselves out with wonder. Now it's back to the everyday grind, which is much less exciting...and exhausting.

Almost Back to Normal

2009-11-02T04:29:00.000-08:00

My parents have been here for a wonderful two weeks. We did a whirlwind tour of Padova, Florence, Rome, the Euganean hills, Verona, and Venice. Wow, did we see some amazing things! I will have to post more about each of the places individually and put up some of the highlight pictures (this may take awhile to sort out since I took almost 400! Ah!)

We are just about back to normal, or whatever "normal" means around here. I guess it means grocery shopping, cooking, sweeping the floor 4 times a day, taking a trip to the park, and entertaining ourselves. It also means lots of Skype calls to all of our loved ones, since they are not here with us. For Matt, it means leaving the house at 8:30 to get to the library when it opens and spend a full day pouring over Latin making (we hope) discoveries and taking (again, we hope) copious notes on his computer using his newest love, OneNote--the MS Office note-taking/organizing software. Then, after a full day of work, he hops on the 6:15 bus and returns home to a freshly baked supper. kids washed, and a clean house (it's the ideal, anyway).

It has been a real treat to have Grandma and Grandpa here to visit, explore, and help watch the kids. I think Dominic and Cate will go into withdrawal when they leave (we might too, actually). Whenever something is broken, Dominic takes it to my dad and asks him, "Can you 'finger' it out, Grandpa?" We thought he just messed up the word until he was trying to fix his "broken" bread and was vigorously twisting his finger in the middle saying, "I 'finger' it out."

More to come. Soon.

Video: Hokey Pokey

2009-10-19T23:09:00.000-07:00

I'm dangerous once I get started posting the videos... Matt has been taking the camera to the library to photograph old books, so most days I am "sans camera". He hasn't needed it for the last couple days, though, so I took full advantage by commanding my husband and the children to be interesting and then shot precious videos. Enjoy the Hokey Pokey.

Video Time!

2009-10-18T11:25:00.000-07:00

I thought that everyone could use a little dose of the kids in action. Here's Dominic doing the song "Head and Shoulders" with Daddy.

And here's Cate giggling with Mommy.

The Corruption of Italy

2009-10-16T13:19:00.001-07:00

The corruption of Italy runs deep. In fact, it has even penetrated our little boy's imagination (and, apparently, my spelling abilities, since I just spelled it "immagination").

While reading Harry, The Dirty Dog for the one hundred-billionth time, I start asking Dominic questions about the pictures, hoping to break up the monotony. I ask him to find the fire hydrant, count the number of shovels, locate the coal car, etc.

He catches onto the game alarmingly quickly and starts asking me his favorite question, "Whaz that?"

After we played it his way for a few pages, I turn the tables, "Dominic, what's that?" as I point to a plate with leafy greens on it in the background of the cafe scene. The expected answer is, of course, "salad" or perhaps "broccoli," which remains his favorite vegetable, although asparagus and green beans are definitely challenging its preeminence.

"Iz basil," he casually tells me.

My windowsill herb garden appears to have left quite an impression upon him. Whenever he sees me pick some for a recipe he asks, without fail, "Mommy, can I have a basil (or rosemary, he correctly identifies them), for me?"

I have also discovered that he likes sandwiches, if they're not boring. I'll give you an example. A few days ago I made him a sandwich. It was asiago cheese and salami on a fresh baguette, not too bad, I thought, but he just picked at it, hardly eating anything.

He sees me eating my sandwich and, in his typical style, asks, "Mommy, what're you eating?"

Since I make it my policy to always answer these inquiries, I "patiently" respond, "it's a sandwich with zucchini, red peppers, cheese, and pesto."

At the mention of pesto, he perks up. "Pesto? I want some pesto."

Seeing no harm from this request, I get some out, slather it on his bread, reassemble the sandwich and give it back to him. He promptly ate the entire sandwich. Ever since then he asks for a pesto sandwich. See, Italy is corrupting him.

Oops

2009-10-15T04:37:00.001-07:00

We were out to dinner with some friends, who made a detour to our humble abode in Padova during their grand tour of Europe, and Matt decides to try a more complicated Italian sentence involving the formal conditional and the infinitive, with an attached direct object--perhaps he wanted to impress them, I'm not sure. Anyway, we needed a little plate "piattino" for Dominic. He gets the waiter's attention, interrupts him from his very, very busy pace, and politely (and proudly) asks him, "Potrebbe portarlo un piattino, per favore?" (Basically, this means (or should have meant), "would it be possible for you (in the formal) to bring him a little plate?") Matt was then quite miffed when the waiter responded rather callously in English, "you want a plate?" Yes. That's what I said, didn't I? I guess he was just too busy to properly appreciate my use of the formal conditional with an infinitive attached to the direct object. Or is it really that obvious that we're not Italian? Maybe it's our pronunciation? Sigh.

A week later, in Italian class, Matt mentions this little anecdote to his teacher, telling him what he asked the waiter. The teacher, well, the teacher just howled with laughter. Apparently Matt had mixed up the direct object with the indirect object and had asked (using the conditional properly), "Would it be possible for you to bring him on a little plate?" Oops.

It should be "Potrebbe portargli (not portarlo) un piattino," if you're curious.

Burner Lesson

2009-10-12T23:49:00.002-07:00

I wake up to Matt yelling, "Amyy!! Did you leave the burner on? You've gotta come see this! Now!"

"No, I didn't leave the burner on! Coming!" as I leap out of bed and rush to the kitchen, expecting fire, smoke, and charred skin. Anything with a burner and a two-year-old is bad. Very bad.

The burner is on and very hot. Fortunately, there isn't any smoke, or fire, and Dominic is fine. What I do see, however, is see coffee grounds and pools of murky brown water everywhere. On the floor, in the pan, in the sink, in a coffee cup, and on a spoon. Coffee grounds? They were in the fridge! Apparently, Dominic was trying to make some coffee. Whether it was for himself or for Mommy, he wouldn't say. Somewhat amused, but thoroughly upset that he could have been seriously hurt, I give him a long "talking to" about the dangers of the stove and doing things without Mommy or Daddy.

His innocent face and lack of true comprehension made me feel that my lecture was a bit futile. It reminded me of a story my mother told me. One of my older brothers, Josiah, was notoriously rambunctious and curious. My mother was trying to impress upon him the importance of safety, especially when playing outside near the street. With all seriousness and concern, feeling the need to make a strong indent on his soul, such that he'll never try this himself, she tells him, "Josiah, your best friend was almost hit by a car this morning..."

Eight-year-old Josiah responds, 'That's okay. I have lots of other friends."

That's about how futile my attempts at stove-safety felt today.

Foreign Tidbits

2009-10-06T00:47:00.000-07:00

I was just making a quick list of interesting things I've found out recently, originally intended just for my own records, but I thought you all might enjoy them as well. I made friends at the park with a Finnish mother (2 kids) and our neighbors are Danish. Both speak excellent English, so I've been learning a lot about their countries. And, of course, there are random things we keep learning about Italy. So here they are, in list form.

Italy
-all children go to "school"
-take the public bus to school or parents bike them to school
-shop every day
-Albanians and Moroccans are the victims of much prejudice. But this is apparently different than prejudices in America, because these people "really are thieves."
-very sweet (and minimal) breakfast foods: croissant, brioche, choco-cereals, muesli, yogurt (even chocolate chip flavored! (straticella)), coffee, juice
- eat dinner late 9:30-10:00
-kids go to bed about 10:30 or 11:00
-everyone goes to the park at 4:00, after picking up kids from the school
-make payments on strollers. I.e. Peg Perego stroller with pram is 60 euro/month for 10 months!
-frequently ask me about the kids, "are they yours?" and "how old are you?"
-apparently, it is not rude to ask "how old are you?" and "how much do you weigh?" after all, everyone can see these things any way.
-I cannot find Shout, brown sugar, baking soda, jarred garlic, dried mint, ranch dressing, and the pacifiers are lame (no curved nipple).
-the pizza is delicious, but apparently, "American pizza" has corn on it. What?

Finland
-eat dinner about 6:00
-kids to bed about 8:00
-much recyling/thrift stores, hand-me-downs
-hardly any cars
-the trope 'you cannot eat pasta every day' is there as well. Too many carbs are bad for you
-English is compulsory in school. almost everyone, even grandparents, speak English.

Denmark
-meat is more expensive there than in Italy. wow. 9 euro/kilo for chicken = $6/lb for chicken and ground beef. yikes.
-they eat dark bread (like pumpernickel) with various toppings for a traditional lunch
-almost no mothers stay home
-bikes everywhere. including a bike with a box in the front to house a child and another person
-buy a special bike and stroller instead of a car
-dissertation = "writing a Ph.D"
-liberal and conservative politics. but the support of the right wing party is necessary for anything to pass.
-more recently it is becoming right-wing. the police sent back 50-100 Iraqui refugees, even though it is not safe to send them back yet.
-eat dinner about 6:00
-kids to bed about 8:00
-concerned about 'sustainable living'
-minimum wage is 11-13 euro for someone without any education
-learn English from tv programs. nothing is dubbed.

Questura Continued = Not so Happy

2009-10-02T12:05:00.000-07:00

Today Matt went to the Questura to be fingerprinted. Naturally, he needed a paper he did not have (for some reason, they require all the same paperwork that you already submitted copies of...even though you have a receipt showing that your papers were already accepted...) and, also, they wanted me and the kids there at the same time, even though they never told us that, and our appointment wasn't for another ten days, anyway...I got the paper, strapped Cate onto my front in the Baby Ergo, took Dominic firmly by the hand, and caught the next bus for the center.

Things went relatively well. I waited with the kids at the gate for 10 minutes. We waited inside for another 30 minutes. Then we submitted all our papers again. Waited another 20 minutes. Then we were called up to the window. They accepted everything! Then we put each finger on this little blue machine. Okay. So far, so good. Then la polizia asked Matt how tall, in centimeters, he is. Wow, we have no idea! After a bit of trying to make a reasonable guess, he tells her that he is 190 centimeters. His logic went something like this: a meter is pretty close to a yard and a yard is three feet. So...six feet would be two meters. He is 5 inches (half a foot) shorter than 6 feet. He remembered from school rulers that a foot was pretty close to 30 centimeters. So, he figured that he was about 10-15 centimeters shorter than 2 meters. Ergo, 185-190 centimeters. She scoffed in disbelief. Responding in half-Italian and half-English she said that he is certainly not as tall as a basketball player. I guess our calculations were in error. She guessed that he was somewhere in the 160s or 170s. A yard and a meter really aren't that close... One foot equals about 30 centimeters. 30 x 5 = 150 + 15 = 165. OH.

Funny bits aside, we did succeed. But after that, we needed to go to another building, down the street, to have another set of fingerprints taken by a bureaucrat with blue gloves who took his job very, very seriously. Having done that, we were finished. Well, at least for 40 days. In 40 days, we need to go back to the URP office to check something on the internet and get an appointment to pick it up, I guess.

Side note: On the way to the Questura, after we exited the bus, Dominic was throwing a little tantrum because he wanted to stay on the bus. In an attempt to appeal to his reason, I told him his behavior was not making Mommy very happy. He eventually calmed down and we kept walking. Later in the afternoon, he randomly asks me, "Mommy, are you happy?" I tell him, "Yes, Dominic. I'm happy." I respond, "Are you happy, Dominic?" He informs me, "No, Mommy, I'm not so happy." And that is exactly what he said, Matt can confirm it.

Beautiful Venice: City of Wonders

2009-09-27T10:42:00.000-07:00

It's a shame. My first glimpse of Venice made me think I was in Disney World. Magical, yes. Crowded, yes. And surreal. So surreal. Disney has certainly tried to recreate the Venetian magic (and succeeded, in some way), but lacks the mystical appeal of being a real place. Sure, Venice lives off tourism. It could not survive without it. But this is a real city, created by people without power tools and the internet.

The narrow, cobblestone streets are lined with picturesque seashell-colored houses. I find myself in the shade provided by the endless vertical swathes of pink, white, coral, ivory, and yellow houses. Gaggles of people gawk everywhere, squeezed elbow to elbow between the markets of the Rialto and the Ruga where you can buy Venezia t-shirts, "Renaissance" masks, Murano glass items, and chili pepper bouquets (see picture). But when you've climbed to the top of the Rialto bridge with the other 500 people, it suddenly doesn't matter that you're not there alone. The Grand Canal is an almost indescribable sight. Water everywhere, bright colors of tall buildings, bridges in marble, shiny black gondolas with singing gondoliers, and cafes everywhere, allowing anyone to sit and enjoy an expensive espresso to top off the marvelous beauty. I shall include a few pictures in an attempt to supplement my inadequate descriptions.

St. Mark's Square, likewise, is extraordinary. After following dozens of signs leading us through the maze of alleys, bridges (all with steps), secret passages, and streets that we swear are dead ends, only to mysteriously lead elsewhere, we arrive at the square for one of the most magnificent basilicas in Europe. St. Mark's. The square itself is immense, bordered by dark, aged columns and stone buildings (old offices and Palace). We witness a parade of veterans (or something) with their flags and music, marching very slowly through the hoard of people gathered there. Making our way to the end of the square against the lagoon, we look up and are amazed to see 3 more unbelievable buildings. What are these?! A city would be proud to have just one of any of these and here, in Venice, we are at the feet of two, and see three on the horizon. Upon consultation with my Rick Steve's guidebook, I see that one is merely the old Customs House and another is a "simple" church!

St. Mark's Basilica itself is the pride of Venice and clearly shows the unbelievable wealth and prosperity that Venice enjoyed as a hub of the trading route for centuries. I heard it said that every expedition from Venice was required to bring something back for the basilica and, as a result it is a masterpiece of opulence and art, almost a vision of how glorious God must be. And that is merely from the outside! A visit to the inside remains for the next trip we make there, with my parents (soon!).

Mostly, we just wandered the streets of Venezia, taking in the old city, observing laundry hanging from a third story window over a canal, seeing a bridge go right to a doorway, wondering why the Gucci, Pucci, and Louis Vuitton stores were on (what seemed to be) an obscure alley way, shooing pigeons away from our (stealth) picnic lunch, figuring out the best way to carry the stroller over the bridges, and deciding on which of the horridly expensive trattorias to eat at. It was lovely. Magical.

And in need of countless more visits.

Here, for pictures.